Ravages of the Third War
by Zelphax
Summary: This story focuses on the events of Warcraft III from the perspective of my reasonably original characters. While much of it follows the events of the main campaigns, I also hope to fill in some background that wasn't covered as much and show the story from many different points of view, including characters from all 4 main factions.
1. Chapter 1: Prophets and Visions

Introduction

This story follows my characters as they take part in the events of Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos. Most major story events will be covered, but not all, and sometimes events will be covered from different perspectives than they were in their respective campaigns in the game (for instance, a point during the night elf campaign might be told from the perspective of a human character). I apologize for any discrepancies with Warcraft lore, as I have never played the first two Warcraft games, and any references made to them or anything before Warcraft III are based off info I gathered from the Warcraft III manual, World of Warcraft, and WoW Wiki. Please feel free to review, as I appreciate constructive feedback, and I hope you enjoy Ravages of the Third War!

Chapter One

Prophets and Visions

Nakamosha stared off into the distance. It was still dark, and before dawn. Despite the cold, unending drops of rain that fell from the sky, the aged, yet still strong and tall orc woman continued to keep her vigil over the encampment. Though humans rarely deigned to travel this far into the wilderness, still one could never be too careful. _During the First War, we conquered the mighty human kingdom of Stormwind, and in the Second war, the Horde nearly conquered Lordaeron, but fell because of our pride and overconfidence, _she thought. _Our new warchief is wiser than that. Besides, humans are not the only vile creatures that infest these lands; all sorts of vermin make their home here. Gnolls, murlocs, and even the same ogres and forest trolls that were once loyal members of the Horde. All will be eager to slay us if we are unwary._

Her worg, Razor, growled suddenly. His frost-white fur stood straight up on his back as he looked up into the sky.

"Is something wrong, Razor?" she asked. Razor snarled in response, and through a flash of lightning, she caught a glimpse of a crow flying through the sky, croaking harshly. Still, her warrior instincts kept her on edge, and Nakamosha tentatively wrapped her fingers around the haft of the greataxe slung across her back. She would not be caught by surprise if some creature decided that the orc encampment was ripe for an attack. She looked around at the other grunts, making sure they were as alert as she was.

Suddenly she heard a cry. _It came from the warchief's tent! _she realized, horrified. Hurriedly, she, Razor, and several other orc grunts rushed over towards the tent, only to see Thrall emerging, looking shaken but unharmed.

"Throm-ka, Warchief!" Nakamosha saluted, and the other grunts did likewise. "Are you hurt?"

Thrall shook his head. "Just a dream," said the young warchief. It did not surprise Nakamosha. _He is a shaman, like my son Darthak. These dreams are simply a fact of life for their kind._ Thrall continued, to himself, "What kind of nightmare was that?"

The crow wheeled about, croaking harshly once more. However, its croaking transformed into a human voice, much to the surprise of the gathered orcs. "It was not a nightmare, young warchief, but a vision," the voice said. "Follow me, and I will reveal what your future holds."

Thrall looked as confused as the rest of them. "I don't know what this is all about," he grunted, "but I'll play along." He nodded to the gathered orcs, and they packed up their tents, gathered their belongings and set to follow him as he mounted his great black direwolf.

They soon came across the second orc encampment, which held more of the Horde's forces. Several orcs came forth, and Nakamosha recognized her son, Darthak, who nodded when he saw her.

"Lok-Tar, my warriors!" Thrall greeted his troops.

"We are yours to command, warchief!" they responded eagerly.

_Thrall is a born leader,_ Nakamosha thought. _These younger orcs follow him without question. Even the older ones such as I find it difficult not to be swayed by him. He freed our brethren from the internment camps in Lordaeron. When Doomhammer fell, he took up the black armor and mighty warhammer of his predecessor and continued on to the siege of Durnholde Keep, showing strength and determination worthy of any true leader of the Horde. He has reconnected us with the old ways, and the spirit of his father Durotan lives on through him. Darthak is particularly fond of our new warchief, and with good reason._ "Come, Razor," she ordered as they trekked further through the rain-and-wind-swept highlands.

They came across several bands of gnolls and murlocs, but despite their viciousness, the creatures were no match for the savagery, strength and skill of the orc warriors and the power of their shaman. They marched on; day came, and eventually passed into night as they continued their journey. They encountered a sleeping ogre, but Thrall ordered them to pass it by. "We'd have a fierce battle on our hands if the beast weren't sleeping," he reminded them as they continued.

Suddenly, they found themselves ambushed by a party of forest trolls. "Look out!" shouted a grunt as the trolls' throwing axes flew straight at them. Nakamosha positioned herself between one of the axes and the warchief. It dented her armor, causing her to grunt in pain, but left her with no serious injury, and she charged into the fray, hacking left and right with her greataxe. Thrall shouted a prayer to the spirit of air, and a burst of chain lightning arced toward the forest trolls, killing several. The orcs hacked through the berserk trolls, and though several were wounded, it was the Horde that stood victorious.

"Forest trolls. I still can't believe they were ever a part of the Horde," Thrall said disdainfully.

"We should keep moving, before they return with reinforcements, warchief," Nakamosha reminded him.

"Yes," Thrall replied. "Very well, then. Let us continue." With that, they marched further. The wet, muddy trails were slightly discouraging to them, but they were orcs; they had been born and bred to far harsher conditions, and they had faith in their warchief as he led them on.

Finally, they stood in a clearing before a precipice. The crow was circling above, and it descended and shed its feathers to reveal a cloaked, hooded human with a gnarled wooden staff and a white beard. "Greetings, son of Durotan," he said. "I knew you'd find your way."

"It was you I saw in the vision," Thrall realized. "Who are you? How do you know me?"

"I know many things, young warchief," the man said cryptically, "about you _and _your people." He paused a moment, seeing more questions in Thrall's eyes. "My identity, at this time, is unimportant. What _is_ important is that you rally your people and leave these shores, immediately."

_Is this some Alliance ploy?_ Nakamosha wondered suspiciously. Thrall seemed to harbor similar suspicions, as he demanded, "Leave? What's this all about, human?"

To their surprise, the hooded prophet laughed. "Human? I lost my humanity long ago. I am something… different now. Know that I have seen the future and beheld the great burning shadow that is coming to consume this world. You sense it as well, don't you?"

Nakamosha gasped. _It is true, then. I had dismissed it as anger at the Alliance, as lack of rest, as anything but what it really was,_ she realized. _The burning in our blood could mean only one thing. _She looked at the other orcs and saw from their pained expressions that they felt it too. Thrall said it for all of them: "The demons… are returning."

The human, or whatever he was, as he claimed not to be human any longer, faced towards the precipice. "Yes. And only by leading your people across the sea, to the distant lands of Kalimdor, will you have a chance to stand against them!"

Thrall frowned. "But how can we-"

"I will answer all of your questions in time, young warchief," the hooded prophet interrupted him. "For now, rally your warriors and prepare to leave this land. We will speak again." He leaped off the ledge, transforming back into the black crow with bedraggled feathers, and flew away.

Thrall sighed. "None of this makes sense," he said, and Nakamosha privately agreed, "but the spirits tell me… that I should trust him." Darthak and the other shaman nodded their heads, and the orcs prepared to journey west, towards the coast.


	2. Chapter 2: Destiny Awaits

Chapter Two

Destiny Awaits

Darthak sat on the ground, meditating. He could feel the subtle vibrations of the earth beneath him, the wind that blew across his face, the heat from the campfire he sat next to, and the cool of the water in the pond nearby. He was connected to the elements; he was a shaman. Thrall had been the first in many generations to return to the old ways, and since, Darthak and many other orcs had sought the spirits' forgiveness for having drunk the demons' blood. Some, like Darthak, had also been forgiven, and had become shaman themselves. Yet he, like Thrall, also remembered his warrior upbringing, and maintained his skill at arms – the paths of the warrior and shaman were not mutually exclusive.

A peon walked up to him, interrupting his meditation. "Message for the warchief," he said, in that same apologetic tone that the peons always used when speaking to other orcs.

Darthak grunted. _I can return to contemplating the elements afterward,_ he decided, and accepted the message from the peon. He read it, briefly, before standing up and making his way up to the warchief's tent.

As he approached, Thrall turned to him and sighed. "It's been three days, and this prophet has yet to show himself. I hope I'm not making a huge mistake by trusting him."

Respectfully, Darthak bowed. "Warchief, the clans are assembling as you ordered, but it will take them some time to reach us," he relayed.

"Then we must prepare this camp immediately. I want my warriors to have food and proper lodgings when they arrive," Thrall ordered.

"Yes, warchief," Darthak said, and turned away to carry out his orders.

As he turned to go, Thrall stopped him. "Warrior, has there been any sign of Grom Hellscream?" he asked, sounding concerned. "He and the Warsong Clan were supposed to have been here by now."

Regretfully, Darthak responded, "No, warchief. We haven't heard from Hellscream in some time."

"Damn it, Grom," Thrall muttered. "Where the hell are you?" He sighed once more, and ordered Darthak, "Get the peons to work."

"Right away, warchief," Darthak said. He went to the burrows, where the peons were sleeping, and shouted, "Wake up! Your warchief needs this camp set up before the rest of the Horde arrives! Get to work!"

Most of the peons hastily obeyed, rising from their beds and fetching their tools. One weakly attempted to protest, "Me not that kind of orc…" but quickly fell silent and joined the others when he saw the axe and hammer belted onto Darthak's waist. They ran outside and began erecting barracks and more burrows to provide room for the rest of the Horde when they arrived.

Darthak stepped outside, satisfied, and began to hone the edge of his axe. As he sharpened the orcish blade, his mother came over and stood by him. "Sometimes I worry about you, Darthak," she said.

Darthak grunted. "You always worry," he replied gruffly.

"Perhaps," Nakamosha allowed, "but nonetheless I am an older warrior than you. I have fought through the First and the Second War. I took part in the siege of Shattrath on Draenor. I was part of the army that sacked Stormwind City. I have hacked my way through the gates of Lordaeron City, only to retreat just as quickly when we discovered that the Stormreaver and Twilight's Hammer clans had betrayed the Horde. I was there at the defense of Blackrock Spire, where Doomhammer slew the greatest the humans had to offer. I nearly died during that battle; a human even thought me dead and stole my armor. I have lived through a hundred and one battles, and most of them happened before you were born or while you were still only a boy. One who has lived through as much as I have has earned the right to worry."

"Yes, Mother," Darthak grudgingly gave in. "At least Father isn't here… yet."

"No, Vordrosh is not here yet," Nakamosha agreed. "I was surprised to hear that he rejoined the Horde. I would have thought he would remain with his Dragonmaw Clan, rather than following us Frostwolves and the Warsong to war."

"I am not eager to see him again," Darthak said.

"Nor am I," Nakamosha admitted. "He is a mighty warrior, but far too drawn to promises of demonic power. He is not happy to be returning to our roots. He will not be pleased to learn you have become a shaman."

"I did not become a shaman to please him," Darthak responded.

Suddenly, they heard a shout from a watchman. "Humans are crossing the river!" Hurriedly they ran down and assumed battle positions, where a human captain was leading a group of footmen across the river.

"You orcs are in violation of the Alliance Internment Act!" shouted the human captain. "We've already captured one of your leaders. If you surrender now, we'll spare your lives."

A thought occurred to Darthak, troubling him. "Warchief, they say they've captured one of our leaders," he said to Thrall, who had come down to answer the humans' challenge. "Maybe they're referring to Grom!"

"I hope not," said Thrall, looking worried. "But if they have captured Hellscream, I'll make them regret it! Lok-Tar Ogar! Come, my warriors! We must drive the humans back!" As the human footmen charged the orcs' defenses, the archers in the watch towers loosed a volley of arrows. Some hit their marks, striking the weak points in the humans' armor. One particularly good shot flew straight through the eye slit of the captain's helmet, causing him to fall dead with only a brief cry of pain. Darthak hammered in a human's helmet and chopped into the arm of another, and around him, a great cheer of "For the Horde!" went up as the orc grunts felled their human attackers. He saw his friend Kilgorok, an assassin from the Shattered Hand Clan, swiftly dodging his enemies' attacks and disappearing into the shadows, only to reappear with his daggers buried in their throats. He nodded in acknowledgement before charging his weapons with lightning and unleashing a devastating stormstrike on the unlucky human footman standing before him.

Finally, the human soldiers had all been defeated. "The wretched humans have been destroyed," Kilgorok said to Darthak, and Darthak nodded.

"Let us deal with the rest quickly," Darthak responded.

"Quickly, my brethren! We must reach where Grom is being held and release him!" the warchief ordered, leading them as they charged across the river and into the human town. They were met only with light resistance from human footmen, but were forced to regroup and charge again when dwarven riflemen attempted to hold them back. Thrall fired lightning from his hands, and it bounced from rifleman to rifleman, injuring them enough for the other orc warriors to bring them down.

Darthak looked around and saw several Warsong orcs held in cages around the human town. Quickly, he took keys from the belts of the dead humans and dwarves and made his way over to the cages, unlocking them as quickly as he could. "Thank you, shaman," they said as he released them, quickly donning their weapons and armor and joining the fight. Darthak followed them back into the fray, and called upon the spirits to incite the orcs' bloodlust, inspiring several to greater feats of savage glory. They tore through the remaining human guards, and though a pair of Knights of the Silver Hand attempted to hold them back at the gates, it was a futile effort, and they broke through to the Alliance naval base.

Amidst the fighting, Nakamosha ran up to Thrall. "Warchief!" she shouted. "We found where they're holding Grom, but the area is protected by fortified guard towers!"

"Then destroy them! Hellscream must be freed!" Thrall ordered with determination, and the orcs refocused their assault towards the hated guard towers that stood between them and the chieftain of the Warsong Clan. The human archers inside the towers rained arrows down on them, and a few orcs fell, but Thrall urged them on, and their fury brought the towers down, one by one, until finally Grom's cage lay unguarded. Thrall rushed forward and broke open the cage holding his adoptive older brother. "Grom, are you all right?" he asked, concerned.

Grom coughed once. "I'm fine, little brother," he assured the warchief. "Luckily, they've only injured my pride."

Thrall smiled despite himself. "Great, 'cause we're getting out of here now. We're leaving the human lands for good."

"Finally," responded Grom, and the gathered orcs roared their agreement. "Follow me," he continued. "I have an idea." He walked down to the docks and gestured at the Alliance fleet moored there. "Ha ha! We can set sail on the humans' own ships!" he announced.

"Perfect," Thrall agreed, smiling. "But we'll need to wait for the rest of the Horde…"

A deep, powerful voice that Darthak knew and loathed spoke from behind them. "The Horde is assembled, Warchief. We await only your command," said Vordrosh, Darthak's father from the Dragonmaw Clan. Even the words he spoke could not shake the dislike Darthak felt in his presence, but he forced himself to ignore it.

"We will set sail immediately, then," Thrall ordered, and the many thousands of orcs began to crowd onto the docked Alliance ships, and began unfurling the sails and raising the anchors. Darthak felt a growing glimmer of hope as they began to set sail, and much to his surprise, he saw Nakamosha smiling. _It has been a long time since my mother last smiled,_ he thought.

As the continent of Lordaeron slowly began to fade out of view, he thought he could hear the prophet's voice saying, "Now, go, young Thrall. Sail west to the lands of Kalimdor. It is there that you will find your destiny. It is there that your people's salvation will be assured."

Interlude

The Warning

"We've received reports that the orcs are regrouping."

"Certainly the recent attacks against the internment camps are evidence enough."

"Agreed. The Horde _is_ on the move."

"This is absurd. My nation will not stand idly by while the Horde masses on our very doorstep!"

King Terenas sighed and rested his head in his hand. It had been a very long, trying day. One piece of bad news after another had come to him. First, the ambassadors from Stromgarde had declared their intentions to secede from the Alliance, following the lead of Gilneas and Quel'Thalas. The tax revenue needed to support the internment camps had been unpopular, but he had never suspected that the nations who had come together in their darkest hour to form the Alliance of Lordaeron would split apart so easily. _Was our shared sacrifice in the Second War worth so little?_ To make matters worse, the orcs were breaking free from the internment camps. A new warchief, known only as "Thrall", had conducted hit-and-run attacks against Alliance outposts all over the Hillsbrad Foothills and Arathi Highlands, and had even gone so far as to raze Durnholde Keep to the ground. It was all the beleaguered king could do to summon the ambassadors from the members of the Alliance to decide on a response, but nothing had been accomplished so far besides senseless bickering between them.

The ambassador from Dalaran was struggling to make himself heard. "The orcs are not our primary concern here. How many times must I repeat myself? King Terenas, you must heed my warning. This plague that has gripped the northlands could have dire ramifications."

Another Alliance ambassador shouted, "Plague? You wizards are just being paranoid!"

Wearily, Terenas sat himself back up on the throne. Even as another ambassador began, "Let's keep all this in perspective…" he found himself intrigued by a wet, bedraggled crow that had landed on the floor in front of the throne. There was no food or crumbs on the floor, or any other reason for the crow to stand there, yet there it was, seemingly oblivious to the arguments going on around it.

As he turned his attention back to the debate, he heard the ambassador from Dalaran explain, "It is simple. As I have said, the Kirin Tor are prepared to place the villages under strict quarantine."

King Terenas decided he had had enough. "I will _not_ institute quarantine without proof of your claims, Ambassador," he declared. "The people of Lordaeron have suffered enough without becoming prisoners in their own lands."

He continued to watch the crow, strangely curious, and was startled when it suddenly transformed into a cloaked, hooded human. "Yet prisoners they are, good king," he said mysteriously.

Terenas was taken aback. "What is the meaning of this? Who are you?" he demanded.

The man ignored his question, instead turning to the ambassadors from the various Alliance nations. "Humanity is in peril!" he shouted. "The tides of darkness have come again, and the whole world is poised upon the brink of war."

The Kirin Tor ambassador shook his head. Impatiently, he ordered, "Guards, remove this madman."

Desperate to be heard, the prophet struggled against the guards as they tried to drag him from the throne room. "Hear me! The only hope for your people is to travel west to the forgotten lands of Kalimdor!"

"Travel west? Are you mad?" demanded the Kirin Tor ambassador.

"Hold, Ambassador," ordered Terenas as he got to his feet. He looked the prophet straight in the eye as he spoke. "I don't know who you are or what you believe, but this is not the time for rambling prophets! Our lands _are_ beset by conflict, but it shall be _we_ who decide how best to protect our people, not _you_! Now, begone!" he commanded.

The man looked at the floor, and his voice sounded regretful as he responded. "I failed humanity once before," he told them, "and I will not do so again." He began to turn and leave of his own will, but as he left, he said, "If you will not take up this cup, I shall find another who will."

_The warning has been given. Their fate is now their own._


	3. Chapter 3: Blackrock & Roll

Chapter Three

Blackrock & Roll

Kyonita leaned back in the saddle, stretching, before gently patting his horse, Llane, and whispering, "I know you're tired, Llane, and it's been a long journey, but we're almost to Strahnbrad now. We'll be able to rest before we continue on to Dalaran, don't worry, but we have to reach Strahnbrad first. It's only a little distance further, you can make it." He was unsure if the strong brown charger understood, but he kept going. _This is not the kind of work he is used to,_ Kyonita realized. _Llane is a bred warhorse, and prefers the heat and excitement of a charge, not long, plodding journeys across the Eastern Kingdoms. He'll survive, though._

He looked around, thoughtful. _Traveling to Dalaran to sell the Kirin Tor my finely crafted mageweave robes… that was not the life I envisioned for myself at the onset of the First War. Not many human veterans became tailors after the Second War; even fewer of them are skilled enough to sew clothing from mageweave cloth. _He smiled despite himself. _If I'm lucky, I'll be remembered for the legendary robes I wove for the archmagi of Dalaran, not for the victories I won in the Second War._ He fingered the medal given him by General Turalyon. _I was one of the first to return to his side during the Battle of Blackrock Spire, after the orcs killed our hero, Anduin Lothar. After that, he and the greatest leaders from the Alliance went to Draenor to permanently end the orcish threat. I was lucky enough to stay behind; from the stories told by those few from the Alliance Expedition who escaped back through the Dark Portal, there is nothing left of Draenor now… Light have mercy on their souls._ He sighed. _Can I go even one day without remembering the war?_ he thought, a bitter taste in his mouth. He shook his head and rode on.

Finally, the village of Strahnbrad was within sight. Kyonita dismounted and led Llane along until he reached an inn. He tossed a copper coin to a stable boy, who hastened to take Llane's reins from Kyonita and lead the warhorse to the stable. Inside the inn, he ordered a round of drinks from the barkeep and sat next to the fire, where a group of travelers was already gathering together to share news from across the four corners of the Eastern Kingdoms. "I hear Stromgarde's leaving the Alliance," said one.

"Bloody ungrateful of them," remarked another. "We saved their sorry asses a dozen times over during the war, and now they think they can just _leave_?"

"Well, I can hardly blame them, even if I don't like it myself," Kyonita observed. "They lost Danath Trollbane and hundreds of good men when the Dark Portal closed and the Alliance Expeditionary Force was lost."

"True, that," a man agreed. "Still, in times like this they need our help as much as we need theirs."

"What do you mean?" Kyonita asked, curious.

"Haven't you heard? The orcs attacked Southshore, near Hillsbrad. Killed near three hundred Alliance soldiers and made off with a third of Lordaeron's fleet!" The man paused for effect, before continuing, "What's more, it's only the latest in a series of orc attacks on internment camps and Alliance bases across Hillsbrad and the Arathi Highlands. Mark my words, the Horde must be planning something big."

Kyonita felt slightly ill. _How can the Horde be reforming so quickly? It's been twenty years since the end of the Second War, and still not nearly long enough. _He sipped from his mug of ale and said, "Thank you for the conversation, but I must take my leave." As he stood up, he heard what he thought sounded like a yell. "What was that?" he asked.

The barkeep looked genuinely frightened. "That sounded like Jim," he said.

They heard a watchman call, "Orcs are attacking! To arms! To arms!"

"Damn it," Kyonita said. "I'm too old for this." Nonetheless he was surprised to discover that part of him yearned to bring the battle to the orcs, to meet their reckless aggression with cold human steel. _My warrior instincts must be returning,_ he thought as he pulled his armor from the saddlebags and put it on. He had originally taken the armor from the corpse of an orc warlord during the Battle of Blackrock Spire. _I still remember how hard she fought._ He drew his sword and shield and rushed outside. The orcs were running rampant in the streets, slaughtering any poor human unlucky enough to be in their path. Angrily, Kyonita charged straight at the nearest orc grunt and sliced straight through his flesh. As the orc fell, caught by surprise, Kyonita noted the tattoos on the orc's skin. _These orcs are from the Blackrock Clan_, he realized. More orcs were coming, and Kyonita found himself pressed back against the wall with a pair of local footmen by his side. He blocked one strike from an orc's battleaxe, though he was momentarily stunned by the force behind it. He swiftly counterattacked, stabbing straight through the orc's chest, but more grunts were coming. _Is this how I meet my end?_ he wondered, not for the first time in his career as a warrior of the Alliance. Somehow, he suspected it would not be the last time, either.

A mighty warhammer smashed the head of the orc directly in front of Kyonita. The orc crumbled, and Kyonita saw a tall, fair-skinned youth with golden blond hair wearing gilded armor standing before him. "Prince Arthas!" he realized. Dropping to one knee, he said respectfully, "We are grateful for your reinforcements and your aid, Your Majesty."

"Of course," said Arthas. "Quickly, we must stop the rest of the orcs before they can do any more damage here."

Kyonita followed Arthas and the other footmen, and they managed to drive back most of the orcs ravaging the town. However, as they reached the north gate of Strahnbrad, they saw a red-skinned fel orc in black armor presiding over a group of captive villagers. "Haul these wretches off with the rest of them!" the orc overlord commanded his subordinates, and several orcs made off with the captured citizens.

Arthas, Kyonita, and the other Alliance soldiers charged, and after a fierce battle, they managed to slay the last of the Blackrock orcs that had been terrorizing Strahnbrad. The remaining citizens slowly emerged from their homes. Upon realizing that they had been saved from the Blackrock orc menace, they gathered around the Arthas and the human soldiers, showering them with praise.

"Bless you, Prince Arthas!" said a young woman gratefully.

"But what about the others who were taken away?" asked a young boy, worried.

"Don't worry, son," said Arthas reassuringly, and Kyonita could not help but feel proud of the prince of Lordaeron. _He is a true Knight of the Silver Hand, and will make a just king when it comes time for him to succeed Terenas,_ he thought. "We'll find them and bring them home safe," Arthas continued.

They were interrupted by a knight riding up to them. "Prince Arthas, Lord Uther needs you at the orc encampment immediately!"

"Never a dull moment," Arthas remarked. "Let's get moving!" Kyonita went back to the stable and fetched Llane, and joined Arthas and his troops as they made their way down to Uther's base near the orc encampment. It was a short trip, and soon they had arrived.

The famed paladin, Uther the Lightbringer himself, greeted them. "Ah, good timing, lad," he said to Arthas. "I sent two of my best knights to parley with the orc leader. They should be returning shortly…" his voice trailed off as they were approached by a pair of riderless horses. _I should be shocked and horrified, but I'm not,_ thought Kyonita. _I have learned many times now that the orcs' depravity has no limits._

"Damn! These orcs will never surrender!" said Uther as another knight led the horses away.

"Then let's get in there and destroy the beasts!" shouted Arthas angrily.

Uther shook his head. "Remember, Arthas, we are paladins. Vengeance cannot be a part of what we must do," he cautioned the young prince. "If we allow our passions to turn to bloodlust, then we will become as vile as the orcs."

"Yes, Uther," Arthas reluctantly conceded.

Uther smiled at his pupil. "Now, if you're feeling up to it, I want you to lead the attack."

"Me?" Arthas asked, surprised. "Well, of course!"

"I'll remain here and ensure none of the loathsome beasts threaten the camp," Uther told them.

"I won't fail you," Arthas promised the Highlord of the Silver Hand.

"I know you won't, lad," Uther said proudly.

Arthas directed his men to shore up the camp's defenses while they prepared to attack the orcs. He split several of his soldiers up into scouting bands to find where the orcs' defenses were weakest. Kyonita was placed in charge of one such band. "Keep close, and if you see an orc, a troll, or anything else that looks dangerous, don't keep it to yourself," he ordered. Most of the footmen with him were younger and less experienced than he would have liked. _Not too different from me when I fought to defend my home of Stormwind during the First War, though,_ he remembered as they started marching into the wilderness. _They'll learn quickly enough. If they're lucky, they'll even get to return to their homes, their trades and their families once this orc uprising is dealt with. They'll get better than me and the other survivors of Stormwind did; we had to flee our city as it burned and our king died._ Realizing he was not being as alert as he should, he snapped himself out of his thoughts just in time to raise his shield and block a spear thrown by a forest troll headhunter. "Counterattack!" he ordered the men with him, and they charged the band of Blackrock orcs and forest trolls that had attempted to ambush them. One orc raider rode up to Kyonita, his worg snarling and biting. Kyonita blocked the beast's attacks with his shield, and then struck it down with a series of hacking attacks with his sword. The orc fell from the great wolf as it died, and Kyonita seized his opportunity and beheaded the orc before he could recover. His blade bit deep into a forest troll's chest, and he sliced an arm off another orc, but several of his footmen had fallen. _If we manage to win this fight, it will be a miracle if half the patrol is still alive,_ he realized. "Fall back and regroup!" he ordered. He fended off attacks from another forest troll, covering his patrol as they reorganized themselves and got back into formation.

A massive grizzly bear ran up to an orc and tore it apart, startling Kyonita. _I've never seen an animal so aggressive. Not since…_ Before he could react, there was a sharp _crack_, and the forest troll Kyonita had been fighting collapsed, dead. He looked up and saw a group of dwarven sharpshooters picking off the orcs and trolls one by one. The few survivors quickly fled back to their camp, and Kyonita saw the leader of the band of dwarves turn to him. He could hardly believe the sight. "Bandred?" he asked incredulously.

The brown-haired dwarf chuckled, beckoning the bear back to his side. "Aye, it's me, Kyonita," he said. "Great to see you, lad. It's been, what, five years now? How're yer wife and daughters doin'?"

"Kerinessa, Lelliara and Alleria are all well, last I heard from them," Kyonita answered. "Kerinessa took Lelliara and Alleria to Silverpine Forest while I've been out weaving robes to be sold in Dalaran. They went to visit the Greymane Wall, and there was also something about respecting nature."

"That's what ya get for marryin' a Gilnean druid," Bandred laughed, and Kyonita briefly joined in. "Not that I'm one to talk," he added. "I'm engaged to a Wildhammer shaman, if ya can believe it!"

"A Wildhammer, eh?" Kyonita raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you were _ever _planning to marry, Bandred. I always thought you liked roaming the wilds alone."

"Well, it's been a long time since those days, Kyonita," Bandred responded, somewhat wistfully. "But then again, I'm never really alone, as long as Manfred's with me," he said affectionately, patting the grizzly bear on the head.

"We've got a lot of catching up to do," Kyonita said, "but that's got to wait for another time. We've got quite a handful to deal with here. I need to treat my wounded and report back to Prince Arthas before we make our move against the orc encampment."

"You know what, I'll help you treat yer wounded, if you'll come back to camp with me," Bandred offered. "Yer plannin' to move against the orcs, you say? Send a runner to the prince and tell him that Feranor Steeltoe has an offer for him."

"All right," Kyonita agreed. He beckoned to one of his soldiers, a young red-haired man. "What's your name, soldier?" he asked.

"Arcus, sir," the young man answered.

"Arcus, I need you to return to Prince Arthas with all due haste," Kyonita told him. "Relay Bandred's message, and make sure not to get caught by the orcs or forest trolls. Can you do that?"

"Of course, sir," Arcus answered. He turned and made haste back toward the Alliance base.

"Let's get the wounded to your camp, then, Bandred," Kyonita said, and together they began making stretchers to lift those soldiers too badly wounded to walk, while others who were still on their feet began helping up those not too injured to walk. Kyonita found one young woman who was lying on the ground and gingerly helped her up. The young woman winced in pain but did not protest while Kyonita and Bandred carefully wrapped linen bandages around her wounds. The linen rags were uncomfortable, and the young soldier continued to wince in pain. "Sorry about that," said Kyonita apologetically. "Funny, isn't it, Bandred? I can work wonders with wool, silk, mageweave and even runecloth when making clothes, but I haven't the faintest idea how to use them to bind wounds."

"Ye should've practiced yer first aid skills more, Kyonita," Bandred responded, grumbling as he made more makeshift linen bandages. "Light knows ye can't count on _me _to do all the work here!"

The soldier feebly suggested, "Maybe I should treat my-"

"Nonsense!" shouted Bandred. "Yer wounded! Ye need to relax and let us deal with it!" He continued to cut up the strips of linen and wool cloth, frowning as he made several mistakes. "If only I had better tools to work with…"

The young woman cleared her throat. "I _am _a paladin," she said.

"Oh, really?" asked Bandred, raising an eyebrow. "Why didn't ya say so in the first place? And what's yer name anyhow, lass?"

The young woman responded, "Sielara. And I'm only a squire really, but I have some training in the Holy Light. My teacher, Lord Galvar, says I've got potential, if I work hard and devote myself to the Light. I wouldn't have mentioned it, but…" she looked uncomfortably at the shredded linen rags they were trying to bind her wounds with.

Kyonita exchanged a look with Bandred. "Well then, Sielara, why don't you give the healing a try?"

Sielara gulped, before raising a hand in the air. "By Light be healed," she whispered, looking almost sick, but her hand shone with the power of the Holy Light, and she soon stopped shaking and was able to stand without assistance.

"Great job, lass. Now maybe ye could help out with the other wounded, now we know you can heal," Bandred suggested.

"Yes, I suppose I should," Sielara said, slightly nervously going around to the other wounded soldiers to heal them as they made their way back to the dwarven camp.

"She'll need to get over that fear if she's ever goin' to be a Knight of the Silver Hand," Bandred muttered.

"She'll learn," Kyonita said.

Finally, they arrived at the dwarves' camp. A tall (relatively speaking), strong-looking dwarf greeted them as they approached. "Bandred! I see you've brought back a group of humans!"

"They're here with Prince Arthas, or so my friend here tells me," Bandred responded. "He should be on his way here."

"I am here," Arthas said as he arrived with another group of Alliance soldiers.

"Well met!" said the dwarf, who Kyonita assumed must be the Feranor Steeltoe that Bandred had mentioned earlier. "Would you like to join in our hunt?"

"What are you dwarves hunting in this region?" Arthas asked.

"We're hunting black drakes. It's said that drakes' blood bestows fiery enchantments upon weapons," Feranor explained.

"The fiery enchantments you seek could prove useful," Arthas mused.

"The name of the beast we're hunting is Searinox," Feranor continued. "With your aid, the monster won't stand a chance!"

Arthas nodded his head. "We'll help you," he decided, and motioned for his troops to move out. They headed east into a canyon. The vegetation that was normally abundant across Lordaeron was strangely absent as they went further and further in, and they began to come across scenes of carnage, of death and destruction. There were bones and gore strewn throughout the entrance to the lair, and a trio of fierce black drakes came forth to battle. Kyonita and the footmen hacked at them with their blades, Bandred and the other riflemen fired shot after shot into their black scales, and Arthas battered away at their defenses with his mighty hammer until all three of the black monsters were slain.

Only Searinox himself remained as they filed into the lair. "You dare to challenge me?" the massive black dragon demanded. "You mortals grow more reckless with each generation." He spat a giant green glob of venom at the footmen and riflemen, and they scattered to avoid the deadly poison. Kyonita found himself surrounded by skeletal warriors raised from the dead by Searinox, and furiously sliced them up until they clattered onto the ground in a heap of loose bones. Several soldiers had been badly wounded by Searinox's venomous breath, and the black dragon was about to finish them off, but Arthas called upon the power of the Light to heal their wounds and save them. Together, they charged again, but the black dragon refused to die, holding on until Bandred shot him straight through his left eye. Finally, Searinox fell to the ground, and Arthas tore the heart from the dragon's chest.

Feranor was delighted when he saw what they had brought him. "Now I will reforge our weapons to strike with searing heat!" he announced, almost gleefully, as he took the heart and set it on his anvil. He then took each of their weapons in turn, imbuing them with Searinox's power, but spent the longest on Arthas's mighty warhammer, Light's Vengeance. Finally, he was done, and they all admired his handiwork. Kyonita felt the heat radiating from his sword._ This is quite a useful addition to my weapon. Perhaps I should dedicate more time to improving my own enchanting skills,_ he thought.

"We're ready to strike against the orcs. Let's get back to camp, men," Arthas ordered, and Kyonita, Bandred, and the footmen and riflemen followed.

As they arrived, they saw Uther fending off an orc raid. An orc blademaster had approached the mighty paladin. "Paladin fool!" he spat. "The warlocks of the Blackrock Clan have spoken. Soon, demons will rain from the sky, and this wretched world will burn!"

Uther glared at the blademaster of the Blackrock Clan. "Yes, I've heard this rhetoric before. You orcs will never learn." He swung his hammer, but the orc dissipated as it struck. "It was only a mirror image," he said, bewildered. "Damn it, what are these curs up to?"

"Begin the attack!" Arthas ordered, and they charged up the hill away from their camp and began fighting their way through the orcs. Kyonita slashed one with his sword, and she growled, wounded, but struck back, denting his shield. She attacked him again, and again, but Manfred the bear mauled her, and she collapsed. Kyonita breathed, grateful, before rejoining the fight. _I'll have to remember to ask Bandred who Manfred is named after,_ he thought as he sliced the side of another orc grunt. _Bandred and I fighting the orcs together. Just like the good old days,_ he thought, just as an orc grunt slammed his axe into Kyonita's shoulder. The armor absorbed most of the impact, but it still hurt a lot. _Hell, who am I kidding?_ he wondered as he retaliated, stabbing his sword into a gap in the orc's armor. _I'm definitely older than I was back then, and the 'good old days' weren't that good, either._

He finally dispatched his opponent, and the next orc that charged up to attack him was shot in between the eyes by Bandred. "Just like the good old days, eh, Kyonita?" he asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Don't even get me started," Kyonita responded, grimacing.

They forced their way into the orcs' base, burning tents and knocking down makeshift fortifications. The orcs continued to fight, but they were fewer now, and slowly giving ground. Kyonita could see the real blademaster as he stood at the center, in front of a pit with a group of human captives. "The hour of doom approaches!" the orc blademaster shouted. "Let this paltry sacrifice appease our demon masters!"

A footman among the captives tried to resist. "You sick bastards. You'll never get away with-"

The blademaster cut him down as he spoke, and methodically executed the rest of the captives, one by one. Even after all the atrocities Kyonita had seen the Horde commit during the First and Second Wars, he was both shocked and enraged by what he saw. Arthas spoke for all of them: "Slay the orcs. Slay them all!" They fought with a renewed strength, cutting down any orc or forest troll that stood in their way, until finally they reached the blademaster. He tried to put up a fight, but Arthas smashed his sword with his hammer before bringing it down on the orc blademaster's head, killing him instantly. Kyonita looked around. They had won the battle, and even with relatively minor casualties, not counting the sacrificed captives from Strahnbrad. He thought of the young child who had asked them to rescue the captives, and the thought made him sick. _Why did the orcs have to try and resurrect their dead Horde?_ he wondered bitterly as they walked back to the Alliance base.

Bandred saw the look on his face. "I don't like it any more than ye do, Kyonita," he said softly. "But we did all we could, and the orcs are dead now."

"I know," Kyonita responded, a bitter taste still in his mouth. "I just… I thought I'd seen enough of this for one lifetime."

"I know what ye mean," Bandred nodded.

Finally, they made it back to the human camp, where Uther was waiting. "You've done well, lad," he said to Arthas. "This was a sound victory."

"I don't know, Uther," Arthas responded uneasily. "The orcs were sacrificing townsfolk. I think they were trying to summon demons."

"Have faith, lad. These orcs are trying to hold on to dying traditions," Uther reassured him. "We defeated their demons a long time ago." He paused and took a deep breath. "Let's head for home. It's been a long day."

_Too long for my liking,_ Kyonita thought, but he, too, was glad this was all over.


	4. Chapter 4: The Worshippers of Death

Interlude

Jaina's Meeting

"You must be wiser than the king! The end is near!" the prophet insisted.

Jaina watched, hidden, as he argued with her teacher, the archmage Antonidas. She had heard of the mad prophet who had managed to get into the throne room and tried to convince the leaders of the Alliance that the world was about to end. Having been rejected, he had traveled all over the lands of the Alliance, repeating his message to any that would listen, but especially trying to impress upon people with authority the need to travel west, across the sea. So far he had been rebuffed everywhere he went, but it didn't seem to dissuade him in the least. _I'm surprised anyone can be that persistent,_ she thought. Curious, she had concealed herself with magical invisibility to watch when the prophet had shown up in Dalaran.

"I told you before, I'm not interested in this nonsense," Antonidas insisted.

The prophet sighed. "Then I've wasted my time here." He shifted his form into that of a crow and lifted off into the air.

Antonidas looked right where Jaina was hiding. "You can show yourself now, Jaina. He's gone."

Slightly abashed, Jaina removed her magical invisibility and came forth from her hiding spot. "I'm sorry for eavesdropping, master, but-"

Antonidas chuckled good-naturedly. "It's your inquisitive nature that I've come to rely on, child." He looked off into the distance, where the crow was still flying away. "That crazed fool's convinced that the world is about to end."

Together, they teleported back to the Violet Citadel, in the heart of the city of Dalaran. "I've heard the rumors of the plague spreading throughout the northlands," Jaina said to her teacher. "Do you truly believe that the plague is magical in nature?"

"It's a strong possibility," Antonidas responded. "That's why I need you to travel there and investigate the matter." He smiled slightly. "I've also arranged for a special envoy to assist you."

"Yes, master. I'll do my best," Jaina promised him.

"I know you will, child," said Antonidas confidently. "Farewell."

Jaina looked on into the distance, thinking about her assignment as a pair of high elven sorceresses below her turned one another into sheep and back. _I'll want to find an alchemist here among the Kirin Tor, who can help us determine the nature of the plague,_ she decided._ It will be good to get out of Dalaran and into the world again._ _If this 'special envoy' is who I think he is, this could be very interesting_. _I haven't seen him in a long time…_

Chapter Four

Old Friends/The Worshippers of Death

Sielara sat, warming herself by the fire. It was fall, and the weather was starting to get slightly colder. _Plate armor is not the best for keeping one warm,_ she thought, slightly envying Bandred's thick leather armor and fur cloak.

"So ya decided to stay with us after all, Kyonita?" Bandred asked. "I thought ya'd decided ya wanted nothin' more to do with war." He laughed briefly. "I knew the tailor's life just wasn't for ya, Kyonita. Ye were bound to get bored of selling robes to mages sooner or later."

Kyonita shrugged. "It's not really war, just cleanup," he answered. "Besides, the Alliance called, and I'm not too old to answer just yet. It was Captain Falric who requested my presence. He said he was putting together a group of Alliance soldiers to help Prince Arthas investigate the plague, and he was impressed by my service record."

"Then how the hell did ye get in, lass?" Bandred demanded of Sielara.

"I served well against the orc uprising," Sielara responded. "Besides, Lord Galvar recommended me. He said this would be a good opportunity for me to get some experience serving the Light instead of just studying under him and beating a practice dummy with my hammer."

"Makes sense," Kyonita responded.

"Is it true you served in the Second War?" she asked them, curious.

"The Second, and the First," Kyonita responded.

"What… what was that like?" Sielara questioned them.

"Your teacher, Lord Galvar, must be old enough to have lived through the Second War," Kyonita observed. "Nearly every Alliance soldier, paladin and mage past a certain age is a veteran."

"He won't talk about it with me," Sielara pressed. "Can't you tell me anything?"

Kyonita crossed his arms. "You tell me. How was your first taste of war, two weeks ago, when the orcs sacked Strahnbrad?"

Sielara felt uncomfortable as she answered. "Not what I'd expected it to be," she confessed. "I… I hoped we might be able to save the captives, to protect more of the innocent…"

Kyonita looked at her, pity on his face. "The First and Second Wars were much, much worse than this orcish rebellion has been," he answered harshly. "They've torched a few internment camps, raided an Alliance naval base, and destroyed Strahnbrad, but after we responded in force, their will to fight collapsed and they fled into the Alterac Mountains. In the First War, they slaughtered thousands of innocents and destroyed the entire city of Stormwind. The entire city! In the Second War it was worse. They pillaged, burned, and destroyed across Khaz Modan, Stromgarde, Lordaeron, and even Quel'Thalas. They allied themselves with the foul forest trolls, hired greedy goblin mercenaries, and brought brutish ogres to our world from beyond the Dark Portal, to strengthen their war machine."

"And the Horde wasn't even the worst of it," Bandred put in. "Lord Perenolde of Alterac betrayed the Alliance. He helped the orcs murder his own countrymen! And after the war, things fell apart real fast. The masons' guild that rebuilt Stormwind? They were refused payment, and then exiled! Gilneas, Quel'Thalas, and now Stromgarde abandon the very Alliance that saved 'em! Take it from me, lass, ye don't want to live through another mess like that one." He took a breath. "Yer Lord Galvar give ya any history lessons, Sielara?"

"Some," Sielara said uneasily. "I'd learned about the betrayal of Alterac and Lord Perenolde, but I didn't know that about the Stonemasons' Guild."

"They tend to leave out that kind of detail," Kyonita said.

"What kind?" Sielara asked hesitantly.

"The kind that makes the Alliance look bad," Kyonita said flatly. "The Horde did terrible, terrible things during the First and Second War, but once the Alliance regained the initiative, our vengeance was almost as vicious as what the orcs had done to us. To be sure, we showed them mercy and locked them up in internment camps where they had simply slaughtered and enslaved their victims, but have you ever seen how the internment camps were run?" He shook his head. "There were low walls and only skeleton crews of guards, because the orcs never _tried_ to escape. They were so defeated, so lethargic, so… almost _dead_. And the commanders of the internment camps took advantage of it; they enslaved the orcs, forced them to work or fight to the death in gladiatorial arenas. They played the orcs against each other, and used them for their own personal gain. Some of us would argue that they deserved it, but I… I had thought the Alliance was better than this." He sighed and looked off into the distance. "And now the orcs finally put up a fight, break free of their prisons, and revert to burning down peaceful villages and sacrificing their people to demons."

"But if you don't like the Alliance, then why are you here?" Sielara asked him.

Kyonita responded, "It's not that I don't like the Alliance. On the whole, much more good than bad has come from the formation of the Alliance of Lordaeron. It's just that I don't like how they've tried to ignore some of the bad things they've done." He paused a moment. "Still, the Alliance has called, and found me ready and willing to serve."

"Now that's the spirit, Kyonita," Bandred said, grinning as he playfully elbowed Kyonita. Manfred gave a short growl of agreement.

Despite herself, Sielara still found herself curious. "You two fought together?"

"Aye, Kyonita and I were some of the most dedicated soldiers born on the other side of Menethil Harbor," Bandred said proudly.

"And Eliun," Kyonita added.

"Well, he wasn't born on the other side of Menethil Harbor," Bandred responded.

"Who was Eliun?" Sielara asked.

"A high elf, and a paladin like yourself," Kyonita answered. "He wasn't always the friendliest companion, but he was certainly the most loyal." He looked at Bandred. "I've gone even longer without seeing him than you."

"Those high elves are always so reluctant to leave their forests in Quel'Thalas," Bandred muttered.

_Such an interesting group,_ Sielara thought. _I suppose that people make unusual friendships in war._ "That armor doesn't look like-"

"Standard issue Alliance footman?" asked Kyonita. "It's not. This was the armor of a particularly tenacious orc I fought on the slopes of Blackrock Mountain, when General Turalyon led the counteroffensive against the Horde following the death of Anduin Lothar. The orc put up a fight the likes of which I haven't seen in years, but eventually I was the victor. I could see both fury and desperation in her eyes when she fell, and after the fight, I took her armor."

"Her?" Sielara asked, confused. "If the orc was a woman, how does the armor fit you?"

"She was as tall as I am, and very muscular," Kyonita responded. "Nonetheless, the armor still would not fit me normally. Luckily, I know a bit of enchantment – enough to modify slightly the fit of the armor. I keep it as a reminder of all the things that were lost during the wars."

A short distance away, Captain Falric asked, "Prince Arthas, we've been waiting here for hours. Are you sure this friend of yours is coming?"

"I'm sure," Arthas replied confidently. "Jaina usually runs a little late."

They saw a young blond woman running from a pair of ogres. "We must help her!" Falric shouted urgently.

"Stay your blade, Captain," Arthas said calmly. "She can take care of herself."

Sure enough, the woman waved her staff, and a shimmering water elemental appeared, casting bolts of magical water at the ogres. She then hurled a pair of fireballs, scorching and killing the first ogre. The second hastily dropped his club and fled. The young woman dusted herself off and went up to meet them. A man also dressed in the robes of the Kirin Tor followed her.

"Ladies and gentlemen, meet miss Jaina Proudmoore," Arthas introduced them, "special agent to the Kirin Tor, and one of the most talented sorceresses in the land." He smiled at Jaina. "Looks like you haven't lost your touch. It's good to see you again, Jaina."

"You, too, Arthas," Jaina smiled in kind. "It's been a while since a prince escorted me anywhere."

"Yes, it has," Arthas agreed. "Well, I guess we should get underway."

"Our sources believe the plague originated in the region north of here," Jaina told them. "We should check out the villages along the King's Road."

The robed man introduced himself. "I am Neralus. I will accompany you and help determine the nature of this plague."

"Neralus?" Kyonita asked incredulously.

Neralus nodded. "Kyonita. It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

"You know each other?" Sielara asked, curious.

"Yes," Kyonita responded, still seeming surprised. Seeing Sielara's curious expression, he shook his head. "We have a job to do. If you really want to know, ask later."

"Yes, sir," Sielara responded reluctantly.

"Let's get moving," Arthas said, and together they made their way down the road.

As they walked, they passed several villages. Several of the villagers stopped their work and shouted greetings when they saw Arthas, and he smiled and waved back at them. _He is a true leader, a beacon of the Light,_ Sielara thought, slightly enviously. _I wish I had that kind of skill, of devotion._

As they approached the bridge, they saw that something was wrong. A villager turned to them. "M'lord, someone has destroyed the bridge from the far side of the river," he told them, concerned. "There is another way to cross, but it is not as safe as it used to be."

"We can handle it," Arthas assured him as they changed course to head to the second river crossing.

They soon came upon another village. A group of armed men had approached. "Slaughter them all!" ordered one.

"Bandits! Run!" a villager shouted fearfully.

Sielara quickly found her trepidation at returning to battle so soon after the orc uprising melting away as she saw the bandits attacking the defenseless villagers. She was instead filled with righteous anger. _Times are hard enough for the people of Lordaeron without bandits killing them and pillaging their homes,_ she thought furiously. Quickly, she, Kyonita, Falric, Arthas and the other footmen charged the bandits, while Bandred, Jaina and Neralus attacked from afar. "Light, give me strength," Sielara whispered as she charged the first bandit. He was caught off guard, but quickly counterattacked, burying his axe in her shield. He tried to wrench it free, but failed, and Sielara broke his arm beneath her hammer. The bandit screamed, and Sielara quickly smashed his head, ending his pain. Another bandit threw a spear at her, which only barely missed. She called upon the Light to smite him, and he cried out in pain. "Light have mercy on your soul," she said furiously as she finished him off. _This is what I came to do,_ she thought. _To fight the unjust and protect the innocent._ She was slightly unnerved by how much easier it had been for her to kill the bandits than it was when she fought the Blackrock orcs, but pushed the thoughts from her mind. _I did the right thing. If I hadn't intervened, all the townspeople might be dead,_ she reminded herself.

The villagers were very thankful for their aid. Gratefully, a man provided information to them: "M'lord, there is an ancient fountain shrine nearby. Legends say that its holy waters can restore health and heal grievous wounds."

"That could prove to be useful indeed," Arthas said thoughtfully. They soon moved on to the other river crossing. As they began to ford the shallows, they were set upon by a band of vicious amphibian murlocs. Sielara was caught off-guard, and one of them was on her so quickly she barely even realized what happened. "No. Get off!" she shouted desperately, trying to reach for her hammer and shield. The murloc would not be dislodged, however, and sank its teeth into her forearm, where there was a brief gap in her armor between her gauntlet and sleeve. "Aaah!" she shouted, the pain making it hard to concentrate. Suddenly Kyonita was there, thrusting his sword through the back of the murloc's head, and it died quickly, making only a few quiet gurgles as it fell. "Thank you, sir," she said gratefully, holding her hand over the bite wound.

"You've got a lot left to learn, Sielara," was all he said in reply as he sheathed his weapons. After checking to make sure she was not seriously wounded, he helped her back to her feet and they continued to ford the river. As they crossed, they were attacked by a few more bands of murlocs and bandits, but Sielara managed to keep alert and wary, and was not caught by surprise again as the small Alliance force fought off its attackers.

Finally, they reached a village on the other side of the river. Up ahead, a group of human footmen were taking cover behind ruined buildings as volleys of arrows flew overhead. "Lock your shields and defend yourselves! Their arrows won't get through!" ordered their leader, and they gathered together and huddled behind their shields, slowly advancing on their attackers.

"Skeletons?" asked Arthas as they saw the village's attackers more clearly. "Slay them all immediately!"

As they fought off the skeletons, Sielara realized with growing horror that there were no living human villagers in sight besides the few footmen fighting them off. _What has happened here?_ She and the others helped the footmen destroy the last of the reanimated skeletons.

"What were those creatures, Sergeant?" Arthas asked the leader of the footmen.

"Undead, milord," the sergeant responded, trembling slightly. "This whole village has gone mad! We did our best to defend the villagers, but…"

"First orc uprisings and now skeletons cropping up all over the place?" demanded Bandred. "This is just gettin' ridiculous now!"

"It does seem an unusual coincidence," Kyonita agreed.

Neralus looked thoughtful. "If the skeletons are in any way connected to the plague…"

Sielara shivered. _All I know is that I would rather face a hundred bandits, murlocs, or even orcs than another undead aberration,_ she thought, before realizing how cowardly that sounded. _You're training to be a Knight of the Silver Hand! You're supposed to be made of sterner stuff than this!_ she reminded herself, but still the apprehension and fear lingered in the dark corners of her mind.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Arthas declared, and they moved on, heading along the road to see what fate had befallen the other local villages. Several of them were injured from their skirmish with the undead, but there was no time to rest and treat their wounds. _Fortunately, none of us are too injured to fight,_ Sielara thought. For some reason, the mere thought of calling upon the Holy Light to heal wounds caused in Sielara nearly unbearable anxiety. _I did it before, when Kyonita and Bandred were treating my wounds,_ she remembered. _Why is it so difficult now?_

To her relief, she was spared the need to call upon the Light's power, as they came across a fountain with crystal-clear water. "This must be the shrine that the old man spoke of," Arthas realized. "Any man who drinks from these Light-blessed waters will be healed." Eagerly, the wounded soldiers came forward and drank from the fountain, sighing in relief as their wounds closed and they felt reinvigorated, ready to return to battle at a moment's notice. Now that they had all been healed, they stood back up and got back on the road.

Soon another village was in view, and once again, it was immediately evident that something was not right. "It looks as though the land around that granary is… _dying_," Jaina said, puzzled and reviled at the same time.

"Could the grain itself be plagued?" Arthas asked.

"Let's hope not," Jaina said fervently. "Those crates bear the regional seal of Andorhal, the distribution center for the northern boroughs. If this grain can spread the plague, there's no telling how many villages might be affected."

"Destroy the granary, just to be sure," Arthas ordered, and Jaina and Neralus conjured fireballs and set the granary ablaze. Wordlessly, they moved further into the village, where they encountered another group of skeletons, this time led by a hooded man with a staff.

"Attack, my minions!" the hooded man shouted, and the skeletons shambled into formation to face them. Arthas called upon the Holy Light to shatter one of the skeletons, and Jaina conjured a blizzard of magical ice shards to rain down on the others. The skeletons soon crumbled under their attacks, and the hooded man stood all alone. He attempted to cast dark magic spells on them, but Arthas broke what must have been every bone in his body with a single slam from his warhammer. _I hope that was the last of them,_ Sielara thought as they moved on, but even as they went she doubted it.

A party of high elves was in the next deserted village. "Greetings," said one, a tall silver-haired elven man in gilded armor. "We have come from Quel'Thalas to help heal the land of this strange curse."

"As always, the generosity of the elves is greatly appreciated," responded Jaina graciously.

"These past two weeks have been filled with strange coincidences," Kyonita muttered. Sielara saw a dumbfounded look on his face. "Eliun, I never expected to see you here."

"The will of the Light makes itself known in unusual ways," the elf responded. He smiled briefly. "It is good to see you too, old friend."

"We'll have to gather 'round a fire and reminisce about the ol' glory days, eh?" Bandred asked.

"Sometime… perhaps later," Eliun replied, sounding slightly reluctant. He turned back to Arthas and Jaina. "You should know that there is a granary warehouse at the far end of this village. This evil blight may be evident there as well," he informed them.

"Then we should investigate this warehouse," Arthas decided. They heard a loud _boom_, and Arthas ordered them to go up the road and investigate. Once there, they saw a pair of dwarves firing shells from a mortar launcher. "Who the hell are you men shooting at?" Arthas demanded.

"We're blastin' those damned skeletons, sir," one of the dwarves explained. "This whole flamin' village is crawlin' with 'em!" His partner launched another shell from the mortar cannon, and then the skeletons were on them. The Alliance soldiers hurriedly intervened, throwing everything they had at the massed skeletons. Sielara swung left and right with her hammer. She mentally cringed every time she felt it crack a skeleton's bone, but still she forced herself to hold firm. _This is becoming easier with every skeleton I destroy,_ she realized, and the thought did not comfort her.

Finally, they had cleared the skeletons from the area. "Well, I could use your help," Arthas said to the dwarven mortar team after a long silence. "We've got a warehouse to destroy at the end of town."

"Let's get to fightin'!" shouted the dwarf, and he and his partner hefted their mortar cannon and prepared to follow the rest of the Alliance forces.

Finally, they reached the warehouse, where a whole party of robed and hooded men was gathered, flanked on both sides by the undead. Their leader was clearly visible: his robes were more ornate than those worn by the acolytes surrounding him, he held a long staff with malevolent runes etched into it, and his hood was decorated with a skull ornament. Just looking at him made Sielara's skin crawl. Upon seeing Arthas, Jaina, and the other soldiers, mages, riflemen and priests, he ordered his fellow cultists, "We have been discovered, my brothers! Flee and continue with the operation!" As they fled, he turned back to Arthas and said, lifting his staff and raising more of the undead as he spoke, "I'm sorry I can't stay and chat, but… duty calls." He then turned and fled with the rest of the cultists, revealing a monstrous, abominable creation. It was made of rotting flesh and covered in stitches, had three arms, one sticking out of the back of its neck, one working eyeball with no eyelids to speak of, and an exposed stomach and heart. Sielara wanted to throw up at the sight of it, and a few of the soldiers beside her actually did.

"That creature looks like it was sewn together from different corpses," Jaina noticed, unnerved.

"Let's study it after we kill it, okay?" Arthas asked, trying to keep the nervous edge from his voice. He led the charge, and they followed. Kyonita, Captain Falric, and the footmen hacked away with their longswords, Sielara, Eliun, and the high elven priests called upon the Holy Light to smite their foes, and Jaina, Neralus, and the high elven mages hurled magical spells, slowing, burning, freezing, and even temporarily transforming the undead into sheep. Despite some losses, they soon destroyed all of the skeletons and ghouls attacking them, but the monstrous abomination kept at it, refusing to return to death. Finally, a lucky footman cut open its exposed heart, and the fleshy construct collapsed. Arthas took a deep breath before ordering, "Destroy that warehouse, now!" The dwarven mortar team fired several explosive rounds into the warehouse, and it collapsed under the force.

"What was that?" Arthas asked the question they were all thinking. "And who was that wizard dressed in black?"

"I believe that the robed man was a necromancer," Jaina replied. "Obviously, he and his lackeys are behind this plague."

Arthas sighed. "Well, it's a good bet that we'll find him, and the answers we're looking for, in Andorhal," he said.

As they began the long march to Andorhal, Sielara heard Kyonita talking to his old comrades. "You would not believe what we've been up to, Eliun," he said.

"Indeed?" Eliun asked, curious. "What have you and Bandred gotten up to in the years since we fought the Horde together?"

"Kyonita's gotten married and had children, for starters," Bandred told him. "But if ya can believe it, up until now he'd been retired from the Alliance army! He'd been tryin' to work as a tailor!"

"That does seem somewhat unlike you, Kyonita," Eliun observed.

Kyonita shrugged. "It's a living, and I've had plenty of war for one lifetime," he responded simply.

"That's true," Eliun admitted. "A lifetime to you is not the same thing as a lifetime to me."

"Kyonita does have some talent as a tailor," Neralus put in. "He made the very robes that I'm wearing right now, and he did an excellent job of weaving the magical patterns that boost mana."

"Interesting," said Eliun thoughtfully. "If I may ask, who are you?"

A red-haired elven mage beside him said, "That's Neralus of the Kirin Tor. An enterprising young alchemist, and an adequately skilled mage, to boot."

"Even as you say, Amethylia," Neralus responded.

"How do you know Kyonita?" Eliun asked.

"As I mentioned before, I have purchased robes from him in the past," Neralus explained. "And one time when I was in Stormwind on Kirin Tor business, I cured his daughter Lelliara of a life-threatening illness when she was five years old. We've kept in contact over the years."

"What happened?" Sielara blurted out.

Kyonita looked at her, slightly bemused. "Your curiosity knows no bounds, does it, Sielara?" he asked her. Slightly abashed, she turned away, but Kyonita said, "No, it's all right. This was… ten years ago, now. Lelliara was a very young girl, and her sister Alleria was only three. Lelliara fell ill, with a fever and uncontrollable coughing. Before long, she was throwing up any time she ate, and her body was covered in sores. My wife, Kerinessa, might have been able to heal her, but at the time she was visiting her family in Pyrewood Village, on the border of Gilneas. She's a druid," he explained when he saw the question in Sielara's expression. "She and people like her have unusual powers, including healing and curing disease. But as I said, she was away, and Lelliara was dying of her sickness. Neralus came by and saw her suffering, and offered to make a potion for her for less than half his usual price. And thank the Light, it worked." He looked at Sielara more critically. "How old are you, Sielara?" he asked.

"Seventeen," Sielara answered.

"Lelliara's almost of an age with you, then," Kyonita told her. "I imagine you might like each other, if you met. Do you have many friends?"

"Some," Sielara said, slightly embarrassed. "Back in Stromgarde. I… don't know anyone in the Alliance army. I was the only one in my family who wanted to become a Knight of the Silver Hand."

"Oh. I see," said Kyonita understandingly.

"Yer family not big on the Alliance or something?" Bandred asked.

Sielara shook her head.

"I understand," said Eliun. "The Alliance is… less than popular in Quel'Thalas, as well. You say you're training to become a Knight of the Silver Hand?"

"I am," Sielara replied, with some pride.

"Perhaps I could give you a few tips, then," Eliun suggested.

"Eliun is quite the accomplished paladin," Amethylia said approvingly.

Eliun smiled. "You do me much credit," he said. To the rest of them, he said, "Allow me to introduce my beloved, Amethylia. She is a powerful mage and, in my eyes, as beautiful as the sun."

"Pleased to meet ya," Bandred said.

"Likewise," Amethylia inclined her head.

"I see we've all moved on and met new people since the end of the Second War," said Kyonita. "Like Bandred told you earlier, I'm married to a lovely Gilnean woman named Kerinessa, and have two daughters, Lelliara and Alleria."

"You named your daughter after Alleria Windrunner?" Amethylia asked him.

Kyonita nodded. "Kerinessa and I had quite the argument over it, actually," he said with a slight chuckle. "She noticed that I had named my horse Llane, my sword Anduin's Revenge, and my shield Bulwark of Turalyon, and she knew that I was going to name our first child Danath, Khadgar or Kurdran if a boy, or Alleria if a girl. 'You can't name everything of yours after fallen heroes of the First and the Second War,' she told me. I suppose she was right, but I wanted to honor them. Kerinessa insisted, so I let her name our first daughter when she was born. When Alleria was born, though…" he smiled.

Bandred chuckled. "That's just like ya, Kyonita," he said. "As fer me, Eliun, I'm not married yet, but I am engaged to a shaman from the Wildhammer Clan. Balyndra, her name is."

"…Interesting," Eliun said. "I look forward to meeting both your families once this is all over."

Finally, they had arrived on the outskirts of Andorhal. "Look," Jaina pointed, and Sielara saw a group of hooded, robed men. "It's those cultists who were with the necromancer!" The cultists surrounded a gold mine and began to lift their arms and chant slowly. "What are they doing to that mine?"

"Let's not wait to find out," Arthas decided. "Attack!"

They rushed forward. Upon sighting them, the cultists abruptly ceased their ritual and attempted to flee, but Arthas felled one with his warhammer before he could escape. "Damn these intruders!" shouted another. "They must not interfere with the master's plan."

As they made to pursue the cultists, Arthas stopped them. "Let's build a base camp here," he ordered. "With those cultists creeping around, I'd rather not head in there without backup."

"I couldn't agree more," Jaina said as they set to work, erecting temporary fortifications and other buildings. Once they had established themselves, repaired their equipment, and secured their position, they readied themselves and moved into Andorhal. As they entered the village, they saw a small encampment where more cultists were working. There was a strange, black structure decorated with skulls and unholy symbols hovering over the encampment. The ground it hovered above looked black and diseased, and plants all around it were withering and dying. A mob of ghouls rushed forward to attack them, and their furious attacks brought down a few footmen. Sielara kept her shield forward, protecting herself from the ghouls' dangerous claws. Finally, she got a blow in with her hammer, breaking the ghoul's brittle spine and causing it to fall apart and return to death. With a hasty prayer, she called upon the Light to heal a nearby allied soldier who was in danger of being overwhelmed, and then returned to battling the undead. The dwarven mortar team fired a round at the black structure, and it shuddered. The cultists hastily attempted to repair the damage, but the dwarves fired their mortar again and again, and finally the black necropolis fell to the ground and crumbled. They mopped up the remaining undead and cultists in the area and razed the encampment.

Tentatively, Arthas ordered them forward, into the town square. Sielara took a breath as they walked. _I must be prepared to face this,_ she thought, doing her best to swallow her fear.

They saw the necromancer they had met in the other village, flanked by a pair of ghouls. A series of open grain crates lay before him, and the granaries and other buildings burned. He turned and faced them. "Hello again, children," he said condescendingly, and his voice chilled Sielara. "I am Kel'Thuzad, and I've come to deliver a warning: leave well enough alone. Your curiosity will be the death of you."

"Are you responsible for this plague, necromancer?" Arthas demanded. "Is this cult your doing?"

"Yes," said Kel'Thuzad proudly, "I ordered the Cult of the Damned to distribute the plagued grain, but the sole credit is not mine."

"What do you mean?" Jaina asked apprehensively.

"I serve the dreadlord Mal'Ganis," Kel'Thuzad explained. "He commands the Scourge that will cleanse this land and establish a paradise of eternal darkness!"

"And what exactly is this Scourge meant to cleanse?" Arthas asked.

"Why, the living, of course," Kel'Thuzad responded. "His plan is already in motion. Seek him out at Stratholme if you need further proof." With that, he fled once again, and his ghouls attacked. Arthas easily destroyed one by calling upon the Light, and Jaina launched a magical frostbolt at the other, freezing it until it returned to death.

As they moved forward and destroyed the remaining infected granaries, Arthas realized with growing horror, "All the granaries are empty! The shipments have already been sent out. We are too late!"

Sielara felt her stomach turn. _How many people will die because we couldn't stop these crazy cultists?_ she wondered. _We can't let them get away with this! _Shefollowed Arthas and Jaina as they pursued Kel'Thuzad through the gates of Andorhal. They were set upon by another pair of ghouls, but those were easily destroyed, and they continued the chase. Then, a group of massive abominations, like the one they had encountered before, attacked them, scattering the soldiers. Sielara no longer felt apprehensive as she called upon the Light, letting her anger at the cultists and the undead channel her retribution. She charged an abomination, smiting it with both her hammer and the power of the Light, breaking bones and tearing flesh wherever she struck, until finally the abomination fell to the ground, dead. Eliun and Kyonita had teamed up on another abomination, and Bandred and Manfred were focusing on another. The dwarven mortar team got in a lucky shot, firing a round that lodged itself right behind an abomination's exposed heart. The resulting explosion tore the abomination to pieces from the inside out. Finally, they had destroyed all of the abominations, and Kel'Thuzad stood alone, cornered. He tried to cast a spell, but Arthas slammed his warhammer into him with all his might, and he wavered, near death.

"Naïve fool," he whispered. "My death will make little difference in the long run. For now... the scourging of this land begins." With that, he fell to the ground, the last spark of life leaving him.


	5. Chapter 5: The Ends Justify the Means

Chapter Five

The Ends Justify the Means

Neralus looked around as they walked. They had nearly reached Hearthglen, a small village in the north of Lordaeron. They were all somewhat grim after what they had seen at Andorhal, but Kyonita, Bandred, Eliun and Amethylia occasionally made halfhearted attempts at conversation. Sielara walked in silence, alone, and Neralus felt pity for her. _She is so young and idealistic,_ he thought. "Are you all right?" he asked tentatively.

Sielara looked away. "No," she finally said. "But it doesn't matter."

"You did everything in your power," Neralus insisted. "As did I, and every one of us. Sometimes that's not enough, but we have to do what we can nonetheless."

"This darkness will not last," said Eliun. "Terrible things may have happened today, but we have laid the dead to rest and stopped those responsible. The Light's justice has been done."

"Leave me alone," Sielara insisted.

Neralus might have insisted that Sielara stop moping, and he saw that Bandred felt the same way, but Kyonita put a hand on his shoulder. "Let her go," he said. "We've all seen a lot during our lifetimes. Sielara hasn't, and this was only her second mission for the Alliance. Give her time."

"Very well," said Neralus.

As the village of Hearthglen came into view, Jaina breathed a sigh of relief. "Hearthglen, finally! I could use some rest."

"We all could," Kyonita agreed.

Arthas gestured at a formation of local footmen and dwarven riflemen. "It looks like they're preparing for battle," he said, sounding surprised.

One of the footmen ran up to him. "Prince Arthas! During the night, a vast army of undead warriors emerged and began attacking villages at random! Now, it's heading this way!"

"Damn it," Arthas said, turning to Jaina. "Jaina, I'll stay here to protect the village. Go as quickly as you can and tell Lord Uther what's happened."

Jaina looked back at him, loathe to leave him to face the undead without her. "But-"

"Go, Jaina," Arthas insisted. "Every second counts!"

"Wait," Sielara said, looking confused. "Why can't one of the other mages here go to Lord Uther? Won't we need Jaina's power to fight off the undead?"

Neralus shook his head reluctantly. "We will have to make do without her. My skills lie primarily in alchemy, not magic, and I would be more likely to kill myself in a teleportation attempt than to reach Lord Uther in the Capital City."

"What about you?" Sielara asked Amethylia desperately.

She shook her head as well. "I am powerful enough, but though I am a mage, I am not a member of the Kirin Tor," she explained. "Quel'Thalas has left the Alliance, and should I teleport to the Capital City, there would be no way anyone would let my message get through to Lord Uther."

"There is no time for this," Arthas insisted. "Jaina, go now!"

"I will be back soon," Jaina promised, before disappearing in a bright flash of blue light.

Arthas approached a pile of empty crates. "Wait – what did those crates contain?" he asked the Hearthglen footman.

"Just a grain shipment from Andorhal," the footman answered. "There's no need to worry, milord. It's already been distributed amongst the villagers." Neralus heard a sharp intake of breath from Kyonita, and saw Sielara's eyes widen. _This is not good,_ he thought. _This is no simple plague…_

"Oh, no…" said Arthas as the realization hit him. "The plague was never meant to simply kill my people. It was meant to turn them… into the undead! Defend yourselves!" Even before he had finished speaking, several of the villagers collapsed, gruesomely shedding chunks of flesh, before rising again as zombies, ghouls, and other undead, ravenously attacking the gathered Alliance soldiers and overwhelming several before they could react. Kyonita and Eliun drew their weapons and struck down a pair of the risen villagers, and Bandred pulled out his gun and fired a scattershot, disorienting the undead and allowing the remaining soldiers to regroup and finish them off.

"Fortify the town entrances!" Arthas ordered, and hastily they erected barricades and shored up the guard towers surrounding Hearthglen. Neralus used his little magical talent to speed the process along wherever he could, but soon found that he was much more useful when tending to the wounded soldiers with his healing potions.

"The undead will attack soon," said Eliun.

"Bah!" Bandred spat. "If they come, they'll get a nice few bullets between their eyes! Or next to their one eye, as may be the case." Manfred growled in agreement.

"Don't get overconfident," Kyonita warned him. "This enemy is like no other we've faced before."

"No, indeed," Neralus agreed. "It is… intriguing, how the undead form such a cohesive army. Even though we killed many of the cultists, they keep coming. Even the Horde's necrolytes and death knights never managed something of this scale. This Mal'Ganis must be a powerful demon indeed, to control so many undead at once. And this plague… Kel'Thuzad was a genius. Not only does it deprive us of potentially able fighters, it also turns them against us. It's unfortunate I don't have any samples of the plagued grain to work with…"

"I'm not sure I like your tone, Neralus," Amethylia said, slightly nervously. "I hope what I'm hearing is just curiosity, and not something… more."

Kyonita looked like he was about to question Neralus, but before he got the chance, a sentry shouted, "Prince Arthas, the undead forces have arrived!"

"Hold your ground!" ordered Arthas as the attack wave of undead arrived. "We are the chosen of the Light. We shall not fall!" They rushed to the defense, and Neralus cast a weak fireball at a ghoul. It was burned, but did not die, instead charging at him. Neralus shot a frostbolt this time, slowing it but not stopping it completely. Finally, he overwhelmed it with waves of arcane energy, causing it to collapse. _I've never been half as good a mage as I am an alchemist,_ he thought. _I never had quite the aptitude._ He briefly considered utilizing his other talents, but quickly decided against it. _If they see me… no, it's best that I not do it unless completely necessary._ He channeled a series of arcane energy bolts toward another zombie, as the rest of them held the line. Kyonita cut a ghoul in half, and turned and decapitated another. Sielara and Eliun called the Light's judgment down upon the waves of undead as they advanced. Bandred fired shot after shot into the crowd of undead, while Amethylia summoned water elementals and froze the undead, burned them, slowed them down, temporarily turned them into sheep, using all her power to slow them down and hold them back. It was all that Neralus could do to follow her example, albeit with reduced success.

Just when it seemed they had succeeded in driving back the undead, another wave came, attacking from both the north and west entrances. This time, the zombies and ghouls were led by necromancers, and joined by massive undead spider-like creatures, which trapped Alliance defenders with webs and attacked with surprising force, breaking through their ranks. Whenever a soldier fell, the necromancers would raise them from the dead and they would join the ranks of the Scourge, attacking their former comrades. Still, Arthas rallied his forces, and used the power of the Light to turn the undead to flight. With this momentary advantage, they managed to slay the necromancers before they could raise any more of the fallen, and destroyed the remaining undead. Neralus took a breath. "This is not over yet," he said warily.

"No," Kyonita agreed, "but we must breathe and rest with what little time we have."

However, only minutes later, a pair of scouts arrived from the wilderness. "Prince Arthas, we've spotted an undead caravan carrying a large load of plagued grain," one said.

"That caravan must be stopped before it reaches the outer villages!" ordered Arthas. He gathered together a group of his soldiers, including Kyonita, Bandred, and Amethylia, and set off to intercept the undead caravan, leaving Eliun, Sielara, Neralus, and the rest of the Alliance forces to hold the defenses of Hearthglen. _A risky decision, but a necessary one, _Neralus thought. _If the cultists manage to infect the people of the outer villages with the plague, they will have numbers enough to overrun our position._

It was not long after Arthas left when the undead attacked Hearthglen again. Eliun led the defense, shouting to the Alliance soldiers to hold their ground and calling upon the Light to lend them strength and courage. Sielara followed his lead, smiting the undead with the power of the Light whenever they were about to break through the Alliance's lines. However, a lich appeared, freezing Alliance soldiers in their tracks and hardening the armor of the undead with ice. Neralus did his best to counter the lich's spells, but he was outmatched, and their defenses were falling apart. "The Light will protect us!" cried Eliun, urging the Alliance troops to hold the line, but they were nearly overwhelmed.

A blast of Light tore the lich to shreds, and they saw Arthas and his men returning. They destroyed the undead attackers, but their numbers were badly depleted. "I'm not sure if we can make it through another attack," said Kyonita, breathing hard. "Light knows I'm too old for this," he muttered.

"Come now, friend, you must fight on," Eliun urged him.

"I'm not gonna sit down and let the undead trample all over this village!" declared Bandred.

As the army of the Scourge surrounded the village once again, attacking from all three entrances, Arthas stood in stunned silence. Finally, he exclaimed, "This is impossible! Their numbers seem limitless!"

The undead were everywhere; the ghouls, zombies, crypt fiends, and abominations smashed through the formations of footmen who tried to stop them, the necromancers raised skeleton after skeleton, and several strange metal contraptions that doubled as both corpse storage machines and catapults bombarded their defenses. Neralus launched another feeble magic attack at the undead, but it was useless. They were almost on him, but Sielara and Kyonita intervened, holding them back. There were too many, though, and their efforts were futile. Before long, ghouls were all over both of them, trying to chew through their armor. _It's now or never,_ Neralus thought desperately, and intoned a chant in a strange, malevolent tongue. A meteor rained down from the sky, smashing several undead and staggering the others with its massive impact, allowing Kyonita and Sielara to struggle to their feet. From the crater where the meteor had struck, a massive stone golem burning with fel flames got to its feet and pulverized a necromancer and two ghouls. The infernal smashed through the undead lines, breaking three meat wagons and several groups of zombies and skeletons as it did so, before it collapsed under the weight of the undead attacks. Neralus spoke more words in the demonic tongue, and he cursed several of the undead, weakening them.

Arthas stood in the center of the battle. "Light, give me strength," he prayed desperately as he struck down a ghoul.

From far away, another voice shouted, "For Lordaeron! For the king!" With that, Uther the Lightbringer, Jaina Proudmoore, and an army of elite Alliance knights rode down the rear ranks of the undead, cutting them down left and right.

"Uther, your timing couldn't have been better," said Arthas with palpable relief.

"Don't celebrate yet, son. This battle's far from over!" Uther responded as the undead forces turned to face them. Though the shock of Uther's attack had destroyed many of them, the necromancers and cultists ordered their minions to counterattack, and the battle dragged on, taking the life of many a valiant knight. Finally, the last of the undead forces were destroyed, and Hearthglen still stood, but the cost had been staggering.

Uther approached Arthas. "I'm surprised you kept things together as long as you did, lad. If I hadn't arrived just then-"

"Look, I did the best I could, Uther!" Arthas interrupted him. "If I'd had a legion of knights riding at my back, I would've-"

"Now is not the time to be choking on pride!" Uther lectured. "What we faced here was only the beginning. The undead ranks are bolstered every time one of our warriors falls in battle."

"Then we should strike at their leader!" Arthas responded, frustrated by Uther's condescending tone. "I'll go to Stratholme and kill Mal'Ganis myself if I have to!"

"Easy, lad," Uther said, sounding slightly worried. "Brave as you are, you can't hope to defeat a man who commands the dead all by yourself."

"Then feel free to tag along, Uther," Arthas responded angrily. "I'm going. With or without you."

Kyonita limped towards Neralus, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You… you summoned a demon," he said disbelievingly.

There was no point in denying it, so Neralus nodded. "I may be only of average talent as a mage, but I have some skill in the… forbidden arts," he answered.

Kyonita shook his head. "I've… I've seen many orc warlocks do… what you just did, during the wars. They sacrificed thousands of innocents for the demons' foul gifts. How… how could you?" he asked, unable to understand.

"Demons are as evil as the undead," Sielara added, glaring at Neralus. "There is a reason the peoples of the Alliance put their faith in the Light and not the darkness."

Neralus felt anger rising in him. "I saved both your lives! Neither of you has any right to judge what I did," he responded indignantly. "Your Light would have been little comfort if you had failed to save the people of Hearthglen. I never sacrificed any innocents to gain my power. I am the master, not the demons!"

Sielara said simply, "That is what you think."

Neralus gestured at the bodies all around them. "If I had been permitted, I could have saved more of them," he argued.

Kyonita held up his hands. "We can discuss this later. For now, we are needed in Stratholme." He looked at Neralus critically. "When this is done, though, you and I will need to talk."

Interlude

The Prince and the Prophet

Arthas stormed angrily down the road. _Whoever this Mal'Ganis is, he will pay for what he has done to my people,_ he thought furiously. He had gone slightly ahead of the rest of his army, as he had needed time alone. All around him, the dark shadows cast by the trees reminded him of the death and misery brought by the necromancers' plague. _At Hearthglen, how the villagers died and rose again… _The thought blackened his mood even further. _Nothing I do can punish the ones responsible for this enough._

As he went, he encountered a hooded man on the road. The hood reminded Arthas of the members of the Cult of the Damned who had been in Andorhal, and he glared at the man briefly before continuing down the road.

As he went by, however, the man stopped him. "Greetings, young prince. We must talk," he said seriously.

Arthas recoiled. "I have no time for this!" he responded crossly.

"Listen to me, boy," the man insisted. "This land is lost! The shadow has already fallen, and nothing you do will deter it. If you truly wish to save your people, lead them across the sea… to the west."

"Flee?" Arthas demanded angrily. "My place is here, and my only course is to defend my people!"

The prophet looked him directly in the eye. "Then your choice is already made. Just remember: the harder you strive to slay your enemies, the faster you'll deliver your people right into their hands." He morphed into the form of an old, bedraggled crow and flew away. Arthas took a deep breath and started back down the road… and then stopped when he saw a blur of movement in the trees.

Jaina materialized from the air. "I'm sorry for concealing myself, Arthas. I just wanted to-"

"Don't say it!" Arthas told her harshly. _I've had enough of this._

Jaina persisted, "I sensed tremendous power about him, Arthas. Maybe he's right. Maybe he does know what will happen."

"Nothing he can say will make me abandon my homeland, Jaina," Arthas replied with conviction. "I don't care if that madman _has_ seen the future." He sighed and started walking down the road again. "Let's go."


	6. Chapter 6: Taken Too Far

Chapter Six

Taken Too Far

Kyonita stood at attention outside the gates of Stratholme as Prince Arthas and Highlord Uther approached each other. The rain felt cold, but he did not shiver. _How many times have I stood in the cold rain, waiting for a battle to begin?_ he wondered. _Though I do not expect a battle here. Stratholme is the jewel of Lordaeron; a grand city with a massive population. After we crushed the undead hordes at Hearthglen, surely they wouldn't be so bold as to attack such a well-defended target. Even the Scourge couldn't have military strength enough for such a risky move._

"Glad you could make it, Uther," Arthas said, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

"Watch your tone with me, boy," Uther responded sternly. "You may be the prince, but I'm still your superior as a paladin."

"As if I could forget," Arthas responded. Reluctantly, he continued as he walked up to the gates, "Listen, Uther, there's something about the plague you should know…" his voice trailed off as he spotted a group of human citizens of Stratholme standing next to a series of open crates, each marked with the seal of Andorhal. "Oh no," he said in a horrified whisper. "We're too late. These people have all been infected! They may look fine now, but it's just a matter of time before they turn into the undead!"

"What?" exclaimed Uther, shocked.

There was a heavily laden pause before Arthas turned back to Uther. "This entire city must be purged."

"How can you even consider that?" Uther asked him disbelievingly. "There's got to be some other way!"

"Damn it, Uther!" Arthas shouted, growing impatient. "As your future king, I order you to purge this city!"

"You are not my king yet, boy. Nor would I obey that command even if you were!" Uther responded angrily.

"Then I must consider this an act of treason," said Arthas quietly yet dangerously.

"Treason?" Uther asked incredulously. "Have you lost your mind, Arthas?"

"Have I?" Arthas asked indifferently. "Lord Uther, by my right of succession and the sovereignty of my crown, I hereby relieve you of your command and suspend your paladins from service."

"Arthas!" exclaimed Jaina, startled. "You can't just-"

"It's done!" shouted Arthas angrily. "Those of you who have the will to save this land, follow me! The rest of you… get out of my sight."

Uther glared quietly at his pupil. "You've just crossed a terrible threshold, Arthas." With that, he and his Knights of the Silver Hand began to file out, one by one.

As Kyonita made to join them, Neralus stopped him. "You can't possibly be leaving now," he protested.

"I can, and I am," Kyonita replied steadfastly.

Sielara said quietly, "Lord Uther is right. There has to be another way."

"It will not be long now until the people of Stratholme fall to the plague and rise again as an unstoppable undead army," Neralus insisted. "Do you really think there's time to try and find a cure before the day is out? Our only option now is to end their suffering before it begins."

Bandred looked tired and drawn. "Much as I hate to say it, Neralus is right. There's no way around it," he said resignedly.

"There is no excuse for murdering innocents," Eliun responded angrily.

"There must be a way to slow the plague's progress, to stop the people from turning into undead until a cure can be found," Amethylia said desperately.

Neralus shook his head. "There is no other way," he said insistently. "You were all there at Hearthglen. You remember how the villagers died and rose up again as slaves of the Scourge. We have to stop this before it happens again!"

"The armies of the undead were nigh unstoppable at Hearthglen. There's no way we'll be able to win another battle like that," Bandred put in. "Ya got to stand with me on this one, Kyonita."

Kyonita shook his head. "Not this time, old friend. I… I can't help slaughter innocents." He, Sielara, Eliun, and Amethylia slowly walked to join Uther and his paladins.

Arthas looked around at those still with him when he caught Jaina leaving as well. "Jaina?" he asked, almost pleading for her to stay at his side.

"I'm sorry, Arthas," she said, unable to face him. "I can't watch you do this." She, too, left with Uther and his paladins.

Kyonita walked away slowly. "How has it come to this, of all things?" he asked them sadly. "Our own people rise from the dead against us. Arthas is sacking Lordaeron's own cities to stop them from falling into the hands of the undead."

"How could he?" Sielara asked incredulously. "He's supposed to be a paladin. Paladins defend the weak and uphold the virtue of the Light."

Eliun shook his head. "Prince Arthas has allowed his good intentions to be corrupted by his anger and desire for vengeance," he said seriously. "We must all be careful not to follow down that dark path." He looked at Kyonita. "I worry for Bandred and Neralus. This path can only lead them to death and destruction."

"They're doing what they think they have to," Kyonita replied, but he didn't feel convinced.

"But how will Neralus know if he goes too far?" Amethylia asked worriedly. "I don't know Bandred well, but it's Neralus I'm worried about. He's in over his head in this. First the demon at Hearthglen, now killing villagers to stop them from joining the Scourge… Remember how he almost sounded like he _admired_ the efficiency of the plague and the strategic intellect of the cultists? I'm afraid of what he will resort to next."

"We need to go back," Sielara said. "Maybe we can stop this madness before it's too late."

Kyonita shook his head sadly. "By Prince Arthas's order, we have been suspended from service in the Alliance army. Until King Terenas reinstates us, there is nothing we can do short of entering Stratholme by ourselves to try and stop Prince Arthas and his troops by force."

"We must not fight amongst ourselves at this time, no matter what," Eliun insisted. "By following that course of action, we would only weaken and divide our forces further."

"Not to mention that we would be dead," Kyonita muttered. He looked back towards Stratholme and could see smoke rising from behind the walls. _I still can't believe it,_ he thought. _Will anything be worth this… carnage?_ He thought he could hear faint cries coming from the city. _Or it could be my imagination trying to picture whatever terrible things are happening behind those walls._ He sighed and waited.

After several hours, the gates to the city opened again. Arthas angrily stormed off, giving orders to his troops, leaving his captains, Falric, Marwyn, and Luc Valonforth, to announce that the city had finally been purged of the plague and the undead. Kyonita reluctantly entered Stratholme, but the sights that greeted him disturbed even him, with all his experience with war, death, and destruction. _This is almost as bad as what happened to Stormwind City at the end of the First War, but it was done not by orc warlords, but by Lordaeron's own prince,_ he thought, shocked. Corpses lined the streets. Some were Lordaeron soldiers or undead Scourge, but most were the citizens of Stratholme whose only crime was eating from the wrong grain crates. Many of the buildings of the once-grand city lay in ruin, and fires burned everywhere. _Nothing could be worth this, _he thought, both revolted that Arthas had resorted to such measures and saddened that the evil of the Scourge could cause so much death and destruction. _I had thought that the terrible destruction wreaked by the Horde had jaded me too much to be shocked by anything, but this… there are no words for this. I had never thought humans could stoop to the same level as orcs and trolls, even to stop a greater evil._

Interlude

Divergent Courses

Jaina stared at the carnage surrounding her, uncomprehending. It had been three days since Arthas culled Stratholme of its plagued inhabitants, and still people were gathering the remains of their dead and struggling to put fires out. There was weeping and lamenting of dead loved ones all around her. Some were too shocked too show any emotion, mindlessly burning their dead to prevent the necromancers from raising them into undeath. "So much death," she murmured to herself, unable to express her horror at the tragedy. "I can't believe Arthas could've done this."

"Jaina! Jaina Proudmoore!" shouted a voice.

Jaina turned around to see Uther running up to her. "Lord Uther?" she asked.

"Ah, Jaina, I thought I might find you here," Uther said knowingly. He looked at her sternly. "Where has he gone, girl? Where has Arthas taken the fleet?"

Jaina wished Uther had not asked her that. _How can I betray a friend, even when he has done something as horrible as this?_ Reluctantly, she responded, "He came to me before he left. I pleaded with him not to go. I told him it sounded like a trap!"

"Where?" Uther demanded.

Jaina swallowed nervously. "Northrend," she said finally. "He's gone to Northrend to hunt Mal'Ganis."

"Damn that boy!" Uther swore. "I've got to inform King Terenas." As he left, he turned back to Jaina. "Don't be too hard on yourself, girl," he said with a sigh. "You had nothing to do with this… slaughter."

_How can I know that?_ Jaina wondered desperately as Uther went off. _Maybe if I stayed with Arthas, I could have persuaded him to see reason. I might have stopped all this! Oh, what can I do?_ She looked up to see crows circling overhead, eager to feast on the dead, and the sight did not cheer her.

One of the crows separated itself from the flock and landed in front of her, shifting into the form of the prophet Jaina had seen preaching to Antonidas and later Arthas. "The dead in this land might lie still for the time being, but don't be fooled," he said grimly. "Your young prince will find only death in the cold north."

"You!" Jaina exclaimed. "Arthas is only doing what he believes is right!"

The prophet shook his head. "Commendable as that may be, his passions will be his undoing." He looked directly at Jaina, and she returned his gaze. "It falls to you now, young sorceress. You must lead your people west to the ancient lands of Kalimdor. Only there can you combat the shadow and save this world from the flame."


	7. Chapter 7: The Citadels of Death

Chapter Seven

The Citadels of Death

Neralus disembarked from the ship, careful not to wet his robes in the freezing ocean water. _So this is where the Scourge are striking from_, he thought. It made sense – they would have needed a supply of corpses in order to raise an army of undead, and the small, isolated human settlements of Northrend would have been the perfect place to start. _They had no king or Alliance army to protect them. Most likely they died out from the plague in a matter of days, providing Mal'Ganis with a reasonably sizeable starting force of undead._

Bandred stepped onto the land behind him. "So, we're here to hit the undead where they live," he said.

"To put it roughly, yes," Neralus responded, slightly impatiently.

Bandred frowned. "Ya know, we're riskin' an awful lot by comin' here without support from Lord Uther and King Terenas. Ye convinced me ta come along with ya and help Arthas track down Mal'Ganis, but now we're here, I'm startin' to have serious doubts."

"We will do what we must," Neralus replied seriously. "Whatever it takes, we will end the threat of the Scourge and destroy its dark master."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Bandred muttered, but he didn't protest further, though Manfred gave a worried growl.

Arthas was standing above, Captain Falric speaking with him. "This is a Light-forsaken land, isn't it?" Falric asked the prince nervously. "You can barely even see the sun! This howling wind cuts to the bone and you're not even shaking. Milord, are you all right?"

Arthas did not answer, but after a moment, he turned and asked, "Captain, are all my forces accounted for?"

Falric cleared his throat. "Nearly. There are only a few ships that-"

"Very well," Arthas interrupted him. "Our first priority is to set up a base camp with proper defenses. There's no telling what's waiting for us out there in the shadows." He waved his hand, and his troops, including Neralus and Bandred, formed up and prepared to follow him inland. The wind howled around them as they painstakingly made their way up from the shore onto the rocky paths between the cliffs ahead. Uncomfortable as he was, Neralus still could not help but appreciate the strategic insight of the Scourge's tacticians. _The cold will likely freeze us solid if we can't find shelter, even before the undead come for us,_ he thought, wrapping his robe tighter around himself. _It's an excellent defense, especially when you consider that the undead are unaffected by the cold._ _Any native life that would be capable of surviving in these freezing temperatures would be too few to pose any serious threat to the Scourge, and could even be used to add to their army. _He was proven partially correct when they were attacked by a band of ice trolls, who they drove off with few casualties. As they marched further, they were set upon again, this time by the spider-like creatures they had first encountered at Hearthglen. Though the creatures were vicious, there were only a few of them, and Arthas coldly dispatched the last of them with his hammer.

"Your Majesty, the wounded must rest," Falric said urgently.

"There is no time. We press on," Arthas announced, almost indifferently, leaving Bandred looking slightly unnerved.

"Interesting," Neralus mused.

"Interestin'?" Bandred asked, incredulous. "We're watchin' the Prince of Lordaeron, who was a hero to his people, smash through these things and order us to keep goin' without so much as a second thought for his men , who would've died for him, and all ya say ta that is _interestin'_?"

Neralus shook his head. "I was noticing something else. Look at these spider-creatures," he said, pointing. "They weren't undead before we killed them. They must be native to Northrend, meaning that the Scourge must have been fighting them and raising them into undeath. One can only wonder how long this Mal'Ganis must have been here, gathering his army of undead and plotting the destruction of Lordaeron... it almost seems impossible," he realized, shaking his head. "How could a single dreadlord accomplish all this? Nathrezim are powerful demons, and cunning, but this seems like it would take at least several, working in concert, to bring about something of this scale."

"Ya'd know that better than me, warlock," Bandred responded, sounding somewhat suspicious.

Neralus was irritated. "My knowledge of demons will likely come in handy once we encounter Mal'Ganis. Furthermore, it was my aptitude for demonic magic that saved our mutual friend, Kyonita Sephiren," he reminded Bandred impatiently. "We will need every advantage we can get in order to stop the Scourge, and I think you will agree that it was worth it when we return to Lordaeron victorious and look at every man, woman, and child we saved from the undead." When Bandred didn't reply, he stood up straight and walked with the rest of Arthas's forces, and Bandred reluctantly followed a few moments later.

Finally, they reached a sheltered , relatively defensible plateau. "We'll set up our base there," Arthas ordered, and directed the laborers to move forward and start establishing defenses. However, as they moved onto the plateau, several shots were fired at them. _Do the undead have guns now?_ Neralus wondered, surprised. "We're under attack! Take cover!" Arthas hastily ordered them, and Neralus mentally prepared a spell, just in case. He saw Bandred load his gun, and they prepared to counterattack.

However, just as they were about to charge around the corner, a dwarven voice shouted disbelievingly, "Bloody hell! You're not undead; you're all alive!"

"Muradin?" Arthas asked, surprised. "Muradin Bronzebeard, is that you?"

A well-armored dwarf with two axes and an obviously bronze… beard stepped out, followed by a few battered riflemen. A group of engineers was struggling to repair a broken flying machine behind them, and other dwarves nearby were crouching warily behind badly damaged barricades. "Damn, boy," Muradin breathed, relieved, "I never imagined that you'd be the one to come to our rescue!"

"Rescue? Muradin, I didn't even know you were here," Arthas remarked, still apparently surprised at the coincidence.

"Just the same, lad, I could use your help," Muradin admitted. "My mates and I were attacked, and we got separated. I'd appreciate any backup you could give me."

"Of course I'll help, Muradin," Arthas said reassuringly. "Let's move!"

Bandred sighed. "Good ta finally see some friendly faces out here," he remarked.

"Do you know anyone here?" Neralus asked, curious.

"As it happens, I don't," Bandred answered. Upon seeing Neralus's doubting expression, he asked, "What? Just because I'm a dwarf and they're dwarves doesn't mean we're all best friends!"

"...Sorry," Neralus said, not quite sure how to respond. "I just wondered..."

"Eh, it's nothing," Bandred responded, looking slightly embarrassed. "I just... we're all a little on edge here, and... well..."

"What?" Neralus asked.

"Eh... it's just a pet peeve," Bandred said hesitantly. "My brother Veridus is in the Explorers' League, ya see. Spends his time digging up useless trinkets and making groundbreaking discoveries about _troggs_, for Light's sake! I swear he's obsessed with 'em! Now, some dwarves in the Explorers' League aren't so bad, like Muradin Bronzebeard and his brother Brann, though I still think they could spend their time doin' somethin' a bit more practical. But Veridus... well, even though he's not bad with an axe or two, even though he fought in the Second War like Kyonita and me, he's eccentric as a gnome, but doesn't come up with a third as many useful inventions! Don't get me wrong, he knows how ta repair a steam tank or a flyin' machine, but whenever he tries to tinker, invent somethin' new, the result is nearly always worse than useless. Now, every time I encounter him out on a dig, I have to explain his hobbies to anyone who happens ta be with me. And I really hope he's not here on this expedition, or..." he sighed and patted Manfred on the head. "He's probably the main reason I've been wanderin' the wilds alone for near twenty years. I'm still afraid o' the day I'll have to introduce my fiancée to him!"

"I think I understand," Neralus said, not eager to probe the topic any further. _I don't see the value in studying troggs, but I think I might sympathize more with Veridus than Bandred. My family would probably be a bit more than embarrassed if they found out that I taught myself demonology._ He opened up his pouch of reagents and was disappointed to find that his supply of herbs was somewhat low. _I can't make even adequate potions with just peacebloom and silverleaf,_ he thought, frustrated. He briefly looked around at the surrounding area, but most of the soil was covered with frost. _Is there any good time of year for picking herbs in Northrend?_ he briefly wondered. Finally he came across a frozen patch of Talandra's Rose, and after carefully picking and pressing the flowers, stowed them in his pouch. _Can't hurt to have a little extra on hand, especially when my stores are so low,_ he thought.

A loud screech echoed through the camp. "It's the undead! To your positions!" shouted Muradin, and the dwarves loaded their rifles and drew their axes. The broken flying machine was launched into the air, looking like most of its mechanical components had been through makeshift repairs, and Arthas's troops also readied themselves; footmen crouched behind their shields, knights mounted their horses, and the high elven priests blessed others with the power of the Light. Neralus began channeling energy into a fireball. _If I can, I should use my forbidden talents only when absolutely necessary,_ he decided. _I don't want to unnerve the other soldiers unnecessarily._

A swarm of hideous winged creatures flew into the camp, tearing at anyone in range with their sharp claws. The human footmen surged forth to hold them back, but though they managed to wound some, they quickly retreated back into the sky, spitting their acidic saliva. Neralus launched the fireball he had prepared at one of the creatures, but though the burns seemed to hurt it, it now was looking at him with malicious intent in its eyes. _Damn it_, he thought, cursing his mistake. _I should have used a spell that hindered it more, like a frostbolt, instead of trying to kill it in one shot. I should have known my limits better._ He could see the creature preparing a spell, currents of green energy running along its wings, and he quickly ducked behind a nearby large rock to get out of its line of sight. _These seem to be simple creatures, and being unable to see me should disrupt this one's concentration, at least momentarily,_ he reasoned. _Even seasoned spellcasters have difficulty casting spells at targets they can't see._ As soon as he was satisfied the creature would have to repeat its casting of the spell from the beginning, he burst out and guided a series of arcane missiles to it. To his disappointment, the creature was still alive, though it seemed that it was reeling from the effects of the spell. A moment later, something tore straight through its wing, and the creature fell to the ground with a scream. Neralus looked up and saw the dwarven flying machine firing its guns in bursts, and the dwarven riflemen on the ground began to fire volleys into the swarm. Several creatures had chunks of them torn off by the penetrating force of the bullets, shrieking in pain, and the survivors quickly dropped to the ground, where the soldiers noticed, somewhat unnerved, that the creatures' relatively soft hides seemed to be morphing into stone. _These must be gargoyles_, Neralus realized. _They're a rather bizarre type of undead, and none among the Kirin Tor have yet discovered what creatures they are raised from or how necromancers summon them. They can turn into stone to heal themselves, but their stone forms are surprisingly brittle, and don't provide as much protection as one might expect._

"Destroy the fiends!" Arthas ordered his hesitant men, and focused a furious blast of Light upon one of the gargoyles, shattering its stone form. Somewhat encouraged, the footmen and knights came forward and began breaking apart the remaining gargoyles, one by one until all the gargoyles had been destroyed. Neralus took a breath, suspecting he would not get many more moments to rest. _Now would be the ideal time to counterattack, while the undead are still regrouping,_ he thought. It seemed that Arthas was thinking along similar lines, as he ordered, "Let's get a move on!"

"Right with you, lad," Muradin responded, ordering his own forces to join Arthas's.

Neralus fell into line beside Bandred as they made a hasty pace in the direction of the dwarves' camp. "I understand that the rest of Muradin's dwarves will probably fall to the Scourge without our help, but I wonder if this is really the best strategic decision at the moment," he whispered to himself.

Bandred seemed to have heard him. "Are ya really askin' me that?" he asked incredulously. "Ye don't think we ought ta save 'em?"

_Did I say that out loud?_ Neralus thought, irritated with himself. _After all the years I've spent carefully guarding my thoughts, I just carelessly let one slip out..._ "That's not quite what I meant," he told Bandred carefully. "I was suggesting that we pursue Mal'Ganis as our highest priority. You see, there are many difficulties in raising and maintaining an army of undead, which is why most necromancers tend to have no more than five weak zombies or skeletons under their control, and usually even fewer than that. If it were easy to create an undead army the size of the Scourge, it would have been done before. The greatest of these difficulties is control: the more powerful and more numerous the undead, the more difficult it is to keep them bound to the necromancer's will. Do you remember what I said at Hearthglen, about how Mal'Ganis must be incredibly powerful to control so many undead at once despite the deaths of his cultists? If we engage the undead to try and rescue the other dwarves, we'll likely take several casualties in exchange for a negligible quantity of reinforcements. If, on the other hand, we preserve our forces and assault Mal'Ganis's defenses, if we manage to slay the dreadlord, then in all likelihood the Scourge's control of its undead soldiers will be lost, and in the ensuing chaos we can carve a path back to the dwarves, if any still live."

Bandred looked at him somewhat suspiciously. "Ye seem awfully eager ta gamble with the lives of our troops. Ye never fought in the Second War like Kyonita or me, and ya don't understand the costs! And you're askin' us to do this based on yer knowledge of undead none of us can verify."

Neralus sighed. "What I just told you came from a combination of research gathered by the archmagi of the Kirin Tor and compiled in the Academic Library of Dalaran, and my own logical inferences based on that research," he responded. "I'm a warlock and a mage, not a necromancer; I don't drag the dead back from their rest and enslave them. You realize I _do_ have limits? And incidentally, while I may not have been old enough to fight in the Second War, I was old enough to remember when my mother was killed fighting in the defense of Dalaran. I'm well aware of the costs of war." When Bandred looked slightly embarrassed, but did not respond, he continued, "If you wish to verify my information, ask the high elven spellcasters among us. One of them could probably tell you almost the exact same information I did, although they might have come to a different logical conclusion. At any rate, it's a moot point, as Prince Arthas has ordered us to rescue the dwarves, and so rescue them we will."

"Aye," Bandred said, and they lapsed back into silence as they walked. Finally, they came upon the rear lines of a force of undead swarming into an icy canyon ahead. "That must be where the rest of the dwarves are camped," Bandred observed.

"That's them," Muradin confirmed, speaking to Arthas urgently. "And they're still under attack from the undead!"

"Let's move, men. Those dwarves need help!" Arthas ordered, and they formed up behind the undead, preparing to attack.

Despite repeated attacks, it seemed that the undead couldn't seem to break through. _What kind of defenses do the dwarves have that enable them to hold out so well?_ Neralus wondered. He briefly considered using his warlock magic, due to the high number of undead, but quickly decided against it. Instead, seeing an enemy crypt fiend snaring Alliance soldiers with its webs, he began to attempt a weak polymorph. _I don't like to use difficult spells like Polymorph, but perhaps if I simply use a lower rank…_ _it probably won't affect the thing for long, but if it succeeds, it'll at least distract it for a bit and take it out of the battle for a few precious seconds,_ he thought. After some difficult concentration and a draining feeling as his mana was expended, he released the spell. He was at first disappointed as the spell appeared to dissipate against the creature's carapace, and then found more satisfaction as the spider-creature suddenly morphed into a sheep. The transformation only lasted for a few seconds, but as the crypt fiend reverted back to its natural state of being (undeath notwithstanding), it shifted its focus from the trapped dwarves to Neralus, allowing them to escape from the webs. He quickly cast a frostbolt to slow it down, but the creature, though momentarily sluggish, quickly shrugged it off and stopped about twenty yards away from him, dropping several indistinct black shapes on the ground. _What is it doing?_ he wondered briefly, and then staggered as he felt something bite him very painfully in his side. He grabbed whatever it was and squished it in his hand. _That was a carrion beetle!_ Neralus realized suddenly, and saw several more rushing at him. _They'll tear me apart if I'm not careful._ Without hesitation, he tapped into his mana reserves and lit himself on fire. The green fel flames seemed to unnerve some of the footmen fighting nearby, but Neralus ignored them, concentrating on burning away the swarms of carrion beetles. Once he was confident that they had all been destroyed, he extinguished the immolating flames around himself, his skin and clothes unburned, then called down a rain of fire on the crypt fiend and several ghouls and zombies in its immediate vicinity, burning away their rotten flesh until they all returned to death, except for the crypt fiend, which, though it was wounded, appeared about to retaliate, but then hesitated and burrowed underground instead. Neralus looked around warily at the ground surrounding him, but no crypt fiend burst from beneath the snow to attack him. He looked at the battle and saw the main body of the undead forces struggling to turn around to face Arthas's and Muradin's attacks. Muradin himself was destroying several of the undead almost single-handedly: his skin had taken on a gray color, like that of stone, and he had grown to nearly twice his original size. _I had heard stories of the mountain kings of Ironforge being able to become Avatars of Stone and performing impressive feats of strength, but this is like nothing I have ever seen before,_ Neralus thought, awed, though he was careful not to lose his concentration, focusing and casting several shadowbolts at the undead forces before them. Arthas destroyed more than his share of the undead as well, calling upon the Light to smite the unholy creatures before them and to heal wounded allies. His mere presence inspired devotion in all soldiers surrounding them, helping them to fight on long past the time others might have perished. He even called once upon the Light to resurrect a few freshly fallen soldiers before the necromancers could raise them from the dead, and though the effort clearly cost him, those soldiers who he had brought back to life were soon back in the fight as well.

"Inspirin', isn't it?" Bandred asked, echoing Neralus's thoughts as he fired a shot, cleanly tearing through the head of a necromancer some thirty yards away. At the same time, Manfred guarded his flank against encroaching ghouls, tearing them apart with his razor-sharp claws and teeth.

Neralus was about to agree, but he staggered back as a series of explosions tore apart the remaining undead. "Bandred! Look out!" shouted a female voice. Before Neralus could react, a massive force struck him in the chest, knocking him clean off his feet. Pain flooded his body a moment later, and suddenly intensified as he felt lightning scorching him all over his body. He would have screamed if there had been any air left in his lungs. Finally, the lightning stopped, and he gasped in a deep breath, and actually did cry out in pain this time, as searing agony accompanied the air into his lungs. He barely noticed as a majestic gryphon circled to the ground and a dark-skinned, red-haired dwarf woman clad in rough, primordial leathers leapt off, a heavy stone hammer crackling with electricity in hand.

"Balyndra, wait! He's a friend!" Bandred shouted desperately as she stood over Neralus and raised her hammer to finish him off.

Balyndra stopped and stared at Bandred. "Are ya mad?" she asked incredulously.

"It's not what it looks like!" Bandred insisted. "Ya can't kill Neralus, he's workin' with us!"

Balyndra hesitated. "But the fel magic…"

"He's on our side," Bandred repeated. "This migh' sound strange, but… he's a warlock, who's workin' with us to destroy the undead."

"Ya can't be serious," Balyndra said disbelievingly, but she reluctantly lowered her hammer.

Neralus took in another shaky breath, the pain threatening to knock him unconscious. His thoughts were jumbled and incoherent, but he managed to form something resembling a rational line of thought. _My robes weren't much protection against that strike. I'll have to be more prepared in the future,_ he thought with difficulty. Gingerly, he lifted his right arm to the pouch at his side, and though each movement of his muscles shot stabbing pains through him, he somehow managed to reach a healing potion, uncork the vial and tip it toward his lips. Even as the first drops of the potion trickled down his throat, his pain lessened, and he tipped the vial further, until he had drunk all of the potion in it. With some difficulty, he stood. "Bandred… tells it correctly," he said carefully, his pain not entirely gone. "I am Neralus of the Kirin Tor, alchemist, herbalist… and mage, at… at your service."

"Pleased ta meet ya," jovially said a blonde-haired dwarf in ornate armor and an Explorers' League tabard as he held out his hand. Neralus reluctantly shook it, noticing the disproportionately large axe and hammer belted around his waist. "The name's Veridus. Looks like ya already met my brother-"

"Hold on," Balyndra cut in, looking at Neralus and Bandred suspiciously. "Bandred said ya were a warlock, and I think that deserves a little explanation."

Neralus sighed. _Great. I have to explain to Bandred's fiancée how I employ the use of demonic magic and how I can help defeat the Scourge using said demonic magic, without damaging the prospects for their impending marriage. _"Bandred… was correct in his description, though… I would not have put it so crudely," he responded carefully. "I am a practitioner of some… less popular forms of magic, including those demonic in nature. But I am… on your side. The Scourge is as much my enemy as yours. I was born and raised in Dalaran… my father lives there. I have no desire to see it destroyed, should Lordaeron fall… to the undead." He winced somewhat. "On a somewhat… unrelated note, mageweave robes, even ones so well woven and enchanted as these… are poor protection against a Wildhammer gryphon rider's storm hammer."

Though Balyndra still looked somewhat suspicious, she curtly said, "I'm sorry fer hitting ya so hard. I called on the spirit of air during the battle and sensed your fel magic, and thought ya were one of those infernal necromancers. We… we're grateful that you and Bandred helped us out of that mess." Reluctantly, she cast a lesser healing wave on Neralus, allowing him to stand up straight.

"Thank you," Neralus said sincerely. "You are a… shaman?"

"Yes," Balyndra said. "The Wildhammers have lived under the open sky and amongst the elements fer a long time, and we know much about our connection ta the spirits and the world we live in."

"What're ya doin' up here, Balyndra?" Bandred finally asked. "I thought ya'd gone back to Aerie Peak."

Balyndra shrugged. "The Explorers' League was plannin' an expedition to Northrend, and they needed gryphon riders," she explained. "I thought Thunderwing here needed the exercise. He'd been cooped up in that hot, smoky Ironforge aerie fer too long," she said, affectionately patting the gryphon's beak.

"And that's how I met yer lovely fiancée, who ya never even bothered ta introduce ta me!" Veridus told Bandred pointedly.

"Eh…" Bandred awkwardly shuffled his feet and stared at the ground. "I was kinda puttin' it off, ta be honest," he admitted. "I mean… no offense, Veridus, but ye are a bit… strange."

Veridus smiled mischievously. "Just wait till ya hear what I've discovered on my last dig."

"What's the problem?" Balyndra asked, confused. "Why were ya so afraid to introduce yer own brother to me, Bandred? I know the Explorers' League types can be a bit unusual, but… Veridus doesn't seem so bad ta me. We've chatted some during this expedition."

Bandred was briefly spared the need to explain his brother's hobby when Arthas shouted, "The scouts have found the main undead base! Get back into formation!" Balyndra quickly hopped back on Thunderwing's back as he leaped back into the air, flying with the other gryphon riders, and Neralus, Bandred, and Veridus got into formation with the rest of the troops. As they prepared to go, they saw several massive armored vehicles with large cannons on top lumber past, the ground shaking beneath their weight.

"Ha! There's yer justification fer rescuin' the dwarves, right there!" Bandred triumphantly shouted to Neralus. "There's no artillery in the world can match dwarven steam tanks!"

"I almost wish I could be pilotin' one, right now," Veridus said wistfully. "Not that I mind pummelin' the undead more directly with my axe and hammer."

"I'll reserve judgment," Neralus responded, though he did have to admit that the steam tanks seemed rather impressive as they thundered past. He, Bandred, and Veridus joined up with the rear guard as they marched through the frozen wastes.

Finally, they came upon a series of dark fortifications. A necropolis like the one they had encountered in Andorhal sat in the center. A series of crypts and graveyards surrounded it, where necromancers raised new soldiers for the Scourge. There was even some sort of building that gruesomely reminded Neralus of a slaughterhouse, except that the "meat" appeared to have come from... humans. _This is no time to let disgust overwhelm me,_ Neralus firmly told himself, ignoring the gory sight. The base was complete with a series of defensive ziggurats, which radiated outward a black blight, killing off any nearby plants and bolstering the normally nonexistent regenerative abilities of nearby undead. "That has to be where Mal'Ganis is hiding. I want that base leveled!" Arthas furiously ordered, and Neralus quickly prepared to comply.

"Just wait 'til ya see the steam tanks in action," Veridus said proudly as he readied his weapons. "They'll pound those undead fortifications into rubble!"

"He's not exaggeratin'," Bandred put in as he loaded his rifle. "Not even gnome or goblin weapons could match the firepower of these monsters."

"I'll take your word for it, though I've met a few goblins in my lifetime, and I think they'd like to contest that claim," Neralus said as he began to prepare a shadow bolt. _There are enough undead here that I'm not taking any chances,_ he thought, considering his odds of survival if he relied only on conventional magic and not liking the most probable outcomes. _Still, unless I'm about to die or we're about to suffer extremely heavy casualties, I don't think I'll summon any infernals like at Hearthglen,_ he decided. _It's not an easy spell, at any rate, and I would want to save it for true emergencies._ He launched the shadow bolt at a nearby necromancer, and watched with some satisfaction as the necromancer reeled in pain. _It's been too long since I could utilize my full talents against my enemies._ The necromancer quickly responded, mouthing an incantation, his hands wreathed in unholy darkness. Neralus suddenly felt with some alarm that it was as though his muscles were being crushed under extremely heavy weights. Even to move a few feet required an enormous effort. _A potent spell, and a hindrance, but not the right decision,_ Neralus thought angrily as he raised his arm again. _Fortunately, the ability to cripple my movement has no effect on my spellcasting._ He focused energy into his next spell, immolating the necromancer in demonic flames and observing the results with approval as the necromancer flung himself to the ground, trying unsuccessfully to put the flames out, and screaming in agony. Before the necromancer could die, Neralus quickly drained his soul into a soul shard. _It's no worse than what the man has done to everyone he's dragged back from the dead and forced to serve the Scourge,_ he thought coldly, storing the soul shard away for later use. Another necromancer cast a different spell at him, causing him to move with increased speed. He wanted to draw his dagger, to stab something with it. His bloodlust grew and only with difficulty did he stop himself from rushing into the fray. _What is going on? _he wondered. His limbs moved with unnatural speed, but as he moved, he also felt a deep, searing agony. _He's put me in an unholy frenzy, _Neralus realized, cursing as the revelation came to him. _It gives whoever is affected unnatural speed, strength, and savagery, but wears down their body the longer it stays in effect._ Quickly, he pulled one of his healing potions from his pouch, downing it in a single gulp and gasped in relief as his pain was soothed. Quickly, he attempted to curse the offending necromancer, but he protected himself with an anti-magic shell and withdrew. _What the hell is he doing? I thought these cultists all had blind faith in their master, and yet this necromancer is openly fleeing the battle._ He looked around at the rest of the battle; although the humans, dwarves, and high elves had lost several of their forces, the tide had turned against the undead forces, and the steam tanks and mortars pounded the undead structures with incredible explosive force until they collapsed. He prepared several more spells, helping to destroy the last of the undead, and while they brought down a few more Alliance soldiers, eventually the Scourge's bastion lay in ruin, its cold, lifeless defenders returned to true death. "I suppose you weren't exaggerating about the destructive prowess of the steam tanks," Neralus admitted to Bandred and Veridus. "Though it looks like they're actually less powerful than your regular mortars to me. If I had to guess, I would say that their real advantage comes from the heavy mithril armor on the sides."

"That's a good observation, Neralus. Still, the armor coupled with that cannon means they're practically unstoppable. They're a real mark of dwarven ingenuity," Veridus said with pride. "True, the gnomes made some minor improvements to our designs, but this is dwarven engineering at its finest."

The gryphon Thunderwing made a slow, graceful descent and Balyndra leapt off. "That was a hell of a fight," she said, cleaning blood off her storm hammer. "I've didn't know a lot of the dwarves on this expedition, but we lost some people, and I hope it was worth it."

"The Scourge must be stopped," was all Neralus said.

Arthas stood amidst the rubble, seemingly disappointed that Mal'Ganis had not yet shown himself. "All right, Muradin," he said, turning to his dwarven friend. "What were you doing up here, anyway?"

"Well, lad," Muradin said, his eyes lighting up, "there's an ancient way gate that lies somewhere in this glacial wasteland. Supposedly, it transports you to a hidden vault where a runeblade named Frostmourne is held." The prospect seemed to excite him somewhat, but frustration entered his voice as he continued to explain. "We came here to recover Frostmourne, but the closer we came to finding the way gate, the more undead we encountered."

As Arthas mused over that, Captain Falric came up to him and saluted respectfully. "Prince Arthas, we haven't found any trace of Mal'Ganis," he reluctantly informed the prince.

Arthas was visibly disappointed, but his expression quickly became neutral. "No matter; he can't hide from me forever." He turned back to Falric. "Captain, I want you to establish this site as our primary base."

"Yes, milord," Falric said obediently, going back to organize the laborers and carry out Arthas's orders.

"Ya see, Bandred, we do look for practical things in the Explorers' League," Veridus said, jovially patting his brother on the shoulder. "Just imagine what kind of power Frostmourne must have for the undead to protect it so fiercely!"

"Yer brother's got a point there, Bandred," Balyndra pointed out. "He doesn't seem as eccentric as ya seem to think."

Bandred sighed. "Has he shown ya any of his tinkerin' projects yet?" he asked hesitantly. "Or mentioned anything about... troggs?"

"Thanks fer reminding me!" Veridus said, grinning as his brother cradled his head in his hands. "Did ya know, I've come across some finds that seem to indicate that troggs might be our distant ancestors!"

"Troggs? Related to dwarves?" Neralus asked incredulously, picturing the short, squat, greasy, hairy, unkempt, unintelligent creatures that called themselves troggs and having a hard time believing that they were in any way of the same lineage as dwarves, who had created several of Azeroth's greatest architectural and engineering marvels.

Veridus nodded. "Incredible, isn't it?"

"Okay, I think I understand a little now why ya were so embarrassed," Balyndra said. "Still, he's got a good hammer arm. I wouldn't be ashamed to have Veridus as my brother."

Bandred chuckled slightly. "Good thing we're gettin' married then, eh? Ya might have plenty of opportunities ta reconsider that stance."

"I might," Balyndra admitted, smiling, and they shared a quick kiss.

Neralus stood, slightly jealous of the two dwarves. _I once knew a girl I liked in Dalaran_, he remembered bitterly. _But with all the mages' apprentices I could have chosen, the girl I fell in love with just had to become an acolyte of the Church of the Holy Light. Ithelia's family had taken me in during the Second War when both my parents went to fight the Horde. We were good friends for years. She had some magical potential, and when I learned she wanted to become a priestess of the Light, I begged her to stay in Dalaran and become a mage's apprentice instead. I told her about my feelings for her, and to prove that I trusted her, I told her my secret; that I had studied demons in order to get ahead in my apprenticeship._ He sighed. _Love can be such a useless emotion. She abandoned me after I poured my soul out for her. She never gave away my secret, but... I still haven't gotten over her. And then, before Quel'Thalas left the Alliance, I met Amethylia when she traveled to Dalaran and fell for her, too, and she, too, was uninterested in me. At least she had the grace to let me down gently, though._ He sighed once again and looked at the ground._ Don't lose your focus,_ he rebuked himself. _The Scourge must be destroyed in the present; you can lament lost loves only after your duty is done._


End file.
